


no place quite like here (stay ready)

by pirata



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:54:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirata/pseuds/pirata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gordon rings him in the middle of a recording session. He excuses himself and rushes out into the empty hallway to take the call. “Congratulations, Zayn. It’s a girl.”</p><p>In which Zayn inherits a daughter and juggles his newfound fatherhood with life on tour, with a little help along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no place quite like here (stay ready)

**Author's Note:**

> For E, the acorn to my thimble <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who offered me support and encouragement and the extra push I needed to get this finished. I'm a notorious procrastinator, but I worked my ass off to get this thing done and I couldn't have done it without the cheerleading from some of my twitter friends. This is for all of you guys!
> 
> Ficmix, entitled "[A Father's First Spring](http://flying-graphics.livejournal.com/28666.html)" by the incredible [sunshineflying](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying) who has been amazingly patient with me and whose mix is equally amazing! Recommended listening while you read :)
> 
> Fic title inspired by Jhene Aiko's "Stay Ready (What a Life)"
> 
>  
> 
> Written for [One Direction Big Bang: Round Two](http://1d-bigbang.livejournal.com/)

It’s 5:33am when Gordon calls for the first time. Zayn ignores it, hand popping out from underneath the comforter to hit the ignore button, not even consciously awake as his hand flops down the side of the bed. After a beat of silence, his voicemail alert pings, and then his phone is ringing again, annoyingly loud and Zayn finally cracks open his eyes to see who on earth is ringing him at half five.

Gordon calling is never good news.

Gordon calling his cell phone instead of going through one of their team is even worse.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” Zayn says groggily, rubbing his eyes and rolling over onto his side, phone held in place by the pillow.

“Thank you, Zayn, that’s an airtight defense that will assuredly hold up in a court of law,” Gordon teases, and that at least makes Zayn relax, because if Gordon’s in a good mood, it can’t be all that serious.

“On to business, then, and there’s no easy way to say this, but. We have a problem. More specifically, you have a problem.”

Zayn’s stomach does a funny turn and alright, maybe this is more serious than he thought.

“I’m quite sure you don’t remember the name of every girl you’ve—ah, slept with over the past five or six years, but does the name Alicia King ring a bell?”

Zayn nods, the funny feeling in his stomach mingling with a tightness in his chest. He throws in a quick, “Yeah,” when he remembers that Gordon can’t see his nod. It had taken him a moment to match the name with the face, because honestly, Gordon is right, he can’t be expected to remember every girl he’s fucked. He remembers Alicia though, because she’d been one of the last girls he’d fucked around with before he’d finally buckled down and committed to Perrie. It’s hard to remember exactly what she looks like, but he remembers bits and pieces. A tall girl, with thick, curly honey brown hair and a smile to die for. But that was two years ago and he doesn’t understand why she’s being brought up now. “Yeah, but that was ages ago, if she wanted to sell me out, it’s a bit late, isn’t it? Why are you calling me about her at five in the morning?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line. Zayn can hear Gordon fumbling around with papers and letting out a heavy sigh before he answers.

“I’m calling because she was recently killed in a car accident and you’ve been named in her will as her daughter’s next of kin.”

Zayn is dead silent. Long enough for the words to wash over him, long enough for Gordon to clear his throat and say his name in an effort to bring him back to reality.

_Her daughter._

“We were safe, though,” Zayn said insistently, massaging his temple and trying to figure out how this was possible. “I always use protection, and she said she was on birth control…”

“Condoms break,” Gordon said promptly, like some kind of know-it-all sex education teacher. “And the Pill isn’t always reliable.”

“Yeah, but both of them failing? At the same time?”

“It’s rare. But it’s possible. In any case, she put your name on the birth certificate and listed you in her will. I take it from your reaction that this is all news to you? She never even called to let you know she might be pregnant?”

“No!” Zayn snapped, sitting up in bed and kicking the blankets off of his body. “No, it was just a fling, like a few days while we were in London. It wasn’t serious. Fuck, she had a kid?”

“Yes,” Gordon says with a frustrated huff. “The girl is nearly sixteen months old, so she was conceived around April 2013, does that sound right?”

Zayn mentally counts. Then re-counts. Then again, hoping that maybe he’s made an error in his calculations. He’s never been the best at maths, but he’s pretty sure he’s not wrong on this, and he hesitantly relays this on to Gordon.

“This isn’t good,” Gordon informs him, and Zayn groans and slumps back against the headboard, running his hand over his face. I don’t know if this girl was sleeping with anyone else at the same time, but if the dates match up, and she’s listed you on the birth certificate, you’re going to have to take a paternity test. Ms. King has no known relatives and the executor felt it was important that you were notified, otherwise the girl will become a ward of court.”

“Can’t I do that?” Zayn responds, a little too quickly for his own comfort, and, he can sense even through the phone, Gordon’s as well.

“It’s not as easy as that, Zayn. Look, the best thing for you to do is to come down tomorrow morning and do the paternity test. If you are the biological father, we can discuss your options then. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I know. Your tour, your wedding, press commitments. But the sooner we get this all taken care of, the sooner you can get back to whatever mischief you lads get up to.”

“Alright,” Zayn mumbles, still feeling shock over the whole thing. “Alright. I’ll be in tomorrow—later today, whatever. I’ll be in this afternoon.”

Zayn hates the silence that blankets his bedroom when he ends the phone call with Gordon. It means he’s left alone with his thoughts and that’s a dangerous thing in a situation like this.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night.

—————

Two days later, Gordon rings him in the middle of a recording session. He excuses himself and rushes out into the empty hallway to take the call.

“Congratulations, Zayn. It’s a girl.”

Zayn is gripped by a sudden, silent panic; all he can do is gasp for air. Gordon seems to understand and continues talking. “Your daughter's name is Laila. She’s sixteen months old as of next week.”

He doesn’t know what to say, how to respond. A daughter. He has a daughter, and fuck, how is he supposed to handle this? He’d been so fucking careful in the past to make sure this wouldn’t happen. Sure, in those early days when he was young, he’d been careless, but that seemed like a lifetime ago, and he was older now, knew the risks.

“Zayn?”

He’s briefly forgotten that Gordon is still on the phone, distracted by his thoughts and abruptly, by Louis pulling faces at him through the glass window. He offers a half-hearted smile before turning away, trying to focus back on the phone again.

“Yeah?”

“As your lawyer, it’s my duty to argue with your best interests at heart. I know you’ve got a light schedule for the next couple months, but once you go back on tour, things will be hectic. It might be best for both you and the child to consider relinquishing your paternal rights and allowing her to be adopted out anonymously to a family with the means to take care of her—”

“Hold on,” Zayn interrupted, suddenly defensive. “I’ve got the means to take care of her. I’ve got a house, I’ve got money. I know how to take care of a kid!”

“You’re twenty-two years old, Zayn. You’re a month and a half away from your wedding, three months from a European tour, six months from releasing a new album. Are you really willing to put all that on hold so you can prove a point to no one in particular?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. It’s not like Zayn to make rash decisions when it comes to something important, but it’s just the sudden knowledge that there’s a little girl somewhere in London, alone, motherless now and probably scared, with half his DNA. He feels responsible, like he has a duty to protect her. Like he wants to make up for the nearly year and a half that he didn’t even know she existed.

“I want to do this,” he says firmly. If Gordon were there, Zayn is sure he’d be throwing his hands up in resigned defeat.

He’s got the weekend off, so they make arrangements for him to come down and sign all the documents and finally meet his daughter. Gordon reminds him that he needs to tell his family, the other lads, his PR team, tell _Perrie_ , because he can’t just show up with a toddler and expect everyone to congratulate him and go on about their business.

He promises Gordon he’ll take care of it. They say their goodbyes and Zayn hangs up, wondering if he’s in over his head, if he’s made the right decision. He wasn’t anticipating kids for another two years at least, and now he’s got this little girl and god, how is he going to tell Perrie? He contemplates calling her now, but he’s got a recording session to finish, and maybe that isn’t something he wants to do in a rushed phone call in the studio hallway.

He tries to pretend like everything’s fine, but his mind is elsewhere, and after the sixth missed cue, they finally just decide to call it a day. Zayn’s throwing everyone else off, and there’s no point in continuing if they aren’t going to get anything usable.

Liam comes over while Zayn’s hunting for his car keys, face the very picture of concern.

“All good, mate?” He asks, and Zayn just nods, yeah, everything’s great, because he doesn’t want to tell them, not until he’s met her, not until he’s told Perrie.

He doesn’t know which one makes him more nervous.

—————

It’s going on eleven in the US when he calls her. He feels bad, because the girls have a show tomorrow, but this is urgent, massively important, can’t wait until tomorrow.

She cries when he tells her.

“We’ll make it work,” he insists, wishing he was with her in person, wishing he could hold her close and reassure her with kisses and soft touches, but he can’t, all he has is his voice and he’s not sure that’s enough.

She gets back to London in three weeks, and they agree to sort things out then. There’s an awkward silence before they hang up, so he tells her he loves her and he misses her and he’ll see her soon. All she says is “Goodbye, Zayn.”

—————

Perrie’s pictured without her engagement ring the next day.

—————

The Mirror reports on Friday morning that Perrie’s announced the wedding is off, with no explanation, no further details, no comment from her publicist or his. Briefly, there’s a retraction statement from her publicist, but within minutes, it’s gone and the story’s confirmed and Zayn feels like the last person in the world to find out that he’s not getting married anymore.

He can’t say he doesn’t deserve it though.

He sends her twenty texts in two minutes and she only responds with “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t hear from her for another two months.

—————

On Saturday morning, he meets his daughter for the first time.

The end of the week has been a complete disaster now that Perrie’s left him. He told the other lads, a little annoyed that they received the news like it was almost an inevitability that he’d fuck up like this. They were sympathetic though, promising to keep their mouths shut unless Zayn spoke out about it, promising they’d help out as much as they could once they got back on tour. Of course it’s good natured, but Zayn’s been on edge since he got the call from Gordon.

He’d made the drive up to Bradford on Friday afternoon because he knew he owed an explanation to his parents. Doniya wouldn’t stop texting him about it, demanding that he show up and explain what was going on so they could hear it straight from his mouth and not through tabloid speculation.

He can tell from his mother’s reaction how torn she is about the whole thing. He knows they’re disappointed with him, disappointed in his infidelity, disappointed that he made this decision without asking them, disappointed that he didn’t think about the consequences of his relationship before making this choice. They’ll support him no matter what, of course they will, but his dad makes it clear that if this is the choice Zayn is going to make, he’s going to have to take full responsibility of his daughter, not sign the papers and then immediately drop her off to live with them.

Zayn assures them he’s not going to do that. After all, he’s got money, he’s got a solid support system, surely he can do this.

—————

 _She’s so small_ , is his first thought as she’s carried into the room by the social worker, her little hands clutching around the woman’s neck for dear life. The last week has been rough for him, but he knows it must be infinitely worse for her, suddenly alone and without her mother, the only family she’s ever known. The sight of her distraught little face melts his heart right to the core.

“Laila,” he says her name softly, reaching out a hand to touch hers. She shrinks back against the social worker, letting out a whimper.

“It’s been a difficult few days for her,” the woman explains, cooing at the baby and talking to her in soft tones until she finally looks at Zayn.

He’s almost floored by how much she resembles Safaa when she was a baby, wispy black hair and a little button nose. Her eyes are brown like his, like her mother’s, and she has the tiniest hint of a dimple in both cheeks.

She’s beautiful. Small, helpless, vulnerable. It makes him want to protect her even more, to look after her and make her feel safe. He knows he’ll never be able to replace her mother, but he wants to try and fill the void as much as he can. She’s the victim in this situation and he at least owes it to her to make up for his own mistakes.

—————

Doniya drives down the next morning to help him pick out baby things, and he’s thankful for his well-practiced ability at avoiding the paparazzi. When the two of them wander into baby stores, they speak in hushed tones or speak vaguely about a cousin. No one pays them much attention, to his relief.

Louis and Danny come around in the evening and help him paint one of the spare bedrooms. Light green, Zayn’s decided, because pink is too cliché, and he’s decided on a Winnie-the-Pooh theme.

“You holding up alright?” Louis asks once the three of them sit down for a break. Zayn shrugs.

“Still feels surreal, like I’m dreaming and any second I’ll wake up and none of this will be true.”

“Keep hoping,” Louis snorts, taking a swig of his beer.

“You spoken to Pez since?” Danny asks cautiously. Zayn shakes his head, doesn’t say any more. The two of them know him well enough to leave it alone. Not for the first time does Zayn say a silent prayer of thanks for the friends he has.

—————

The first few days alone with his daughter are, as expected, rough. He’s basically had to put his life on hold for a few weeks to deal with all of this, a reluctant agreement with their management company, but they don’t have any major commitments for a while, and he’s agreed to go right back to working once things are under control. If he can ever get things under control.

The social worker came at first, a familiar face ever present to help Laila get used to the place, get used to him. It’s two days before she’ll let him touch her, three before he can hold her. He’s relieved though, because at least he has someone there with him, someone to show him how to heat up her food and how to cut up the portions, how to prepare her formula, how to get her to stop fussing. But gradually, the social worker begins leaving them alone for longer periods of time, until one day, she passes Laila over to him, along with a tiny suitcase holding the rest of her belongings and tells them both goodbye, good luck.

That was a week ago, and while Zayn knows that parenthood is no walk in the park, he wasn’t prepared for just how difficult things are. His relationship with his daughter is fragile—he’s still mostly a stranger to her, and she to him. He’s horrible at making judgment calls with her and sometimes her crying fits last hours into the night, only stopping because she’s too tired to squeeze out any more tears.

The social worker explained that she might struggle with abandonment issues, separation anxiety, but Zayn doesn’t know how to deal with that, not with a screaming toddler. He’s on the phone nearly every day with his mother, asking for advice, for any help she can offer him. It’s not that he doesn’t want his family to come down and help, but he desperately wants to work this out on his own, to prove that he can handle this mess he’s gotten himself into without having to rely too much on anyone else. He had taken her to meet his parents and sisters two days ago and introduced her to the lads the day before, and that hadn’t been too bad. He just held her and pointed to people, showing her they would be familiar faces, but not forcing her to be social, not yet. He doesn’t think she can handle it.

He’s not sure he can handle it either. The entire week has been mostly a disaster, tears and frustration the overall theme. At least, he thinks, they’re starting to make some progress. Laila still has her crying fits, but she’s not waking him up with them in the middle of the night anymore. She knows him at least, maybe not as her father, but he’s been the most stable presence in her life for the last seven days, and for a little girl who’s experienced enough disruption and trauma already, the only thing he can do is hold her and try to reassure her, even if she doesn’t really understand. Mostly she just clings to him, reluctant to let Zayn out of her sight for longer than a few seconds.

That’s what he’s been working on now, trying to get her to understand that just because he leaves the room doesn’t mean he’s leaving her. He does it in small intervals, leaving her alone to go to the loo or warm up her bottle. She’s been so clingy this morning though, so he wanders the house with her, holding her, singing to her, rocking her gently, hoping maybe he can get her to fall asleep at least. Her attention is only piqued when he wanders back into her bedroom and she spots the pile of toys that he’s been sent from everyone he knows who knows.

She wriggles in his arms in a silent demand to be put down, so he sets her on her feet and she toddles over toward the toys, poking around and for the first time all day, paying him no attention. To his relief, she seems distracted enough by the stuffed bunny she’s currently cradling, so he takes a moment to sneak down to the kitchen, pouring some juice into her bottle and grabbing a banana.

She’s waiting for him at the gate when he comes back upstairs, her lower lip wobbling, the bunny discarded in the middle of the floor. “Hey, I’m here, La. It’s alright,” he tells her, stepping over the gate and sitting down at her side.

“You hungry?” he asks, holding out his arms to her. She blinks at him before giving a hesitant nod, letting go of the gate to climb into his lap, fingers poking at the banana and then at her own mouth. Zayn smiles and nods, leaning forward to kiss her forehead before he starts to peel. He feels her stiffen a little at his touch, but she relaxes without a tantrum, taking the small piece of banana he offers her and nibbling it before putting it in her mouth.

She eats half the banana before she notices the bottle, and he happily hands it over to her, relieved at how well things are going so far.

So far.

Because once she finishes her juice and the rest of the banana, she starts to fuss. He takes her back over to the toy bin, but she doesn’t want anything from there and she’s starting to cry. “Mama, mama,” she whimpers, the only words he’s ever heard her speak, and no matter how close he holds her or how much he tries to rock her or reassure her, her sobs increase, little face red, fists beating against his chest as she continues her little mantra, “Mama, Mama, Mama.” He's been through this with her countless times in the last week, knows he’s just got to be patient with her because she’s young, she’s been through trauma, but her wailing is slowly giving him a headache and he can’t get her to stop. It’s nearly noon before he fumbles with his phone, hitting the last recent call, just desperate for advice or help from someone, anyone.

Louis answers on the second ring, his voice cheerful, too cheerful for Zayn’s tastes, and he’s having trouble hearing over Laila’s screaming.

“Jesus, what have you done to her, Zayn?” Louis teases, and Zayn can just barely hear him yell something unintelligible, probably to Eleanor, before he catches the sound of a car engine turning.

“You don’t have to come—”

“Yeah, I do, you sound like you’re in over your head. I’ll be round in twenty minutes tops, try and warm up a bottle and see if she’ll take that, yeah?”

“I gave her some juice half an hour ago,” Zayn protests, swearing loudly when one of Laila’s fists comes in direct contact with his nose. His sudden outburst makes her cry harder.

“So try the bottle this time,” Louis tells him, as if it’s the most obvious solution in the world. “Sometimes, all they need is a warm bottle.”

“How the fuck do you know?” Zayn replies stubbornly, but he keeps hold of her as he makes his way down to the kitchen to start up the bottle warmer.

“Mate, what’s the point of having younger sisters if you don’t learn all there is learn about babies?”

He’s got a point, although the actual babysitting was always Doniya’s job. The perks of not being the oldest.

—————

Laila’s still crying when Louis rings the doorbell. The noise temporarily jolts her out of her crying fit, softening to hiccupped whimpers as he carries her down the steps to open the door. She stares wide-eyed at Louis, a hint of recognition on her face, but he’s still a stranger to her nonetheless. Louis shuts the door behind him, and immediately plucks Laila right out of Zayn’s arms, jostling her a little. She looks absolutely terrified, and Zayn tenses, knowing what to expect once her face crumples and the crying starts again.

“It’s been like this all afternoon,” he groans, head in his hands. Louis gives him a gentle shove.

“Go up and have a shower. Bet you twenty quid I’ll have her asleep by the time you get out.”

Zayn accepts the bet, because why the hell not. His headache is pounding and despite the twinge of guilt over foisting his baby off on someone else, he’s happy for the reprieve. He’ll give Louis two _hundred_ if he actually manages to get her to sleep.

—————

Zayn isn’t sure how long he stands under the shower head, hot water beating down onto his skin, steam swirling around him. He rests his forehead on the tile for God knows how long, grateful for this quiet moment to collect his thoughts. It’s the first time he’s been able to do this in what feels like weeks, just have a moment alone where he’s not worried about his daughter. She’s in capable hands with Louis, so he lets the water droplets wash off the stress that’s been building up in his system ever since that late night phone call. Lets the water drown all of his worries and doubts and insecurities about what he’s doing, and send them swirling down the drain.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there under the spray; at least long enough for the water to grow cool on his back by the time Louis’ hand reaches in to shut the taps off.

“Better?” He asks, tugging back the shower curtain and extending his hand for Zayn to take the offered towel.

“Is she—?” Zayn starts, but Louis is already nodding, holding a finger to his lips as if Laila can hear them.

“Don’t worry about the money, you can buy me a few rounds next time we go out.”

Zayn, towel finally secure around his waist, stares at him for a moment in disbelief, then gives Louis a playful shove. “How the fuck did you manage that so quickly?”

“Magician never reveals his secrets,” Louis says cheekily, grabbing a hand towel from the rack and ruffling it through Zayn’s hair.

“I’ll work it out of you eventually,” Zayn tells him, moving to the mirror to get a good look at his reflection. He looks a bit paler than normal, skin tinged red with the heat from the shower, and there are distinctive bags under his eyes.

“I look like shit.”

“You look like any new parent,” Louis reassures him, hand on the small of his back, thumb gently stroking over his skin. It’s always been this way between them, either they’re both at the peak of energy, crazy and bouncing off the walls, or it’s just quiet calmness, no words exchanged because they aren’t necessary—they understand one another perfectly.

It’s in this moment that he feels safe enough to break down, body heaving with a sudden sob. “I don’t know if I can do this, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, just shifts around so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bathroom counter in front of him, blue eyes serious. “I know.”

“Like, I thought I’d be able to do it, I thought it would be easier, but it’s only been a week and I’m already having doubts. I know I should take responsibility for my own fuck-ups, but I feel empty without Perrie, and some of her shit’s still here and it just reminds me of her, and _I miss her_ , Louis. And, like, there’s this part of me that resents that I ever agreed to take Laila in but then I look at her, and I see my own bloody reflection staring back at me. I have to have a meeting next week to discuss how I’m meant to handle all of this. How do you put a positive spin on a broken engagement and a baby that’s living proof that you’ve been fucking ‘round on your girlfriend _again_ , even after you’ve been caught and ratted out to the press?”

Zayn buries his face in his hands, trembling now as Louis eases him into a hug. Zayn drops his hands and buries his face into Louis’ shoulder, letting his emotions get the better of him. When he finally does pull back, Louis’ shirt is damp with his tears and he mumbles a half-hearted apology.

“Twat,” Louis chirps affectionately, kissing his cheek and hopping off the counter. “Go get dressed and take a nap. We’ll talk later when you’ve gotten some sleep. I’ll call El and tell her I’m staying the night. Go,” he adds sternly when Zayn opens his mouth to protest. “Bed, now. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you get up.”

Zayn lets Louis guide him down toward his bedroom, giving him a little shove inside before shutting the door behind him. It’s funny, he thinks, as he digs around his drawer for a pair of sweatpants, how often Louis invades every inch of his life like this, how he always seems to know the right ways to react to things, even when Zayn is struggling to find meaning himself.

Before he climbs into bed, Zayn can’t resist tiptoeing down the hallway and into Laila’s room. He’s quiet as a mouse, not wanting to wake her up and trigger another crying fit. She’s lying on her tummy, thumb in her mouth and an arm wrapped around her stuffed bunny, looking calm and peaceful. Zayn still isn’t sure about this, thinks maybe it’ll be a long time before he can completely come to terms with his decision, but he’s the only family this little girl has left, and he owes it to her to take on the responsibility of parent now that her mother’s gone.

His mind is full as he heads back into his bedroom, burrowing under the blankets, drifting off into a dreamless sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

—————

Zayn wakes up at half three, the smell of something good wafting up from the kitchen. He starts for the stairs but something pulls him toward the nursery instead. He isn’t sure if it’s parental instinct or what that draws him into the room, but he’s glad for it. Laila is just starting to wake up herself, rubbing her eyes and trying to pull herself up. When she sees him, she immediately reaches out for him to pick her up. She’s still a bit sleepy, snuggling into his hold and he can’t help but smile as he carries her down the steps, drawn to whatever delicious smell is coming from the kitchen.

“Afternoon, sleepyheads,” Louis greets them cheerfully before shifting his attention back to the vegetables he’s cutting up for a salad.

“Proper domestic, you are,” Zayn replies, sitting on the bar stool to watch. “Can I help?”

“Nah, just have to finish up with this and get the lasagna out of the oven. Mate, I don’t know if you’re aware, but nearly everything in your fridge that isn’t baby-safe is take-out and leftovers. Is that all you’ve been eating?”

Zayn shrugs, resting his chin on Laila’s head. “I’ve been busy, and Mum makes a lot for me to bring home.”

“Right, well I took the liberty of doing a bit of shopping for you. You can’t live off reheated meals forever.”

Zayn can’t help feeling touched by that, by everything the other man’s done for him today. He feels a bit guilty too, dragging someone else into this new mess that his life has become. Then again, Louis’ one weakness is probably babies, and the faster he can get Laila to break out of her mistrust and fear of his friends and family, the better.

—————

Dinner runs smoothly, and Laila eats every bit of her cut up pasta and vegetables, even powering her way through a second helping. She seems happy with her belly full, a nice change from this morning, and she lets him put her down so he can help Louis with loading the dishwasher, toddling around the kitchen and keeping Zayn constantly in her line of vision.

They spend the rest of the evening trying to keep Laila occupied, because Louis has determined that holding her attention is the best way to distract her from crying fits. She’s still wary around Louis, staying near Zayn and shying away if Louis tries to offer her a toy or a book, but it’s a quiet evening and Laila drifts off at half eight midway through her last bottle. Louis offers to take her to bed, and Zayn is happy to give leeway, passing her off and slumping down onto the couch. There’s a rerun of the Champions League final on, but he shuts the telly off instead. He’s not in the mood for football, not really in the mood for much of anything.

That twinge of frustration is back again, and he can’t help feeling annoyed on top of it, not just because he gave in and called for help, but because with Louis around, he can’t help feeling inadequate about what he’s doing. It’s not that he thinks Louis is doing it on purpose, but he’s somehow got an answer for everything and Zayn just wishes, for once, that he could pretend to be clueless for once.

He’s still sulking when Louis comes back downstairs, flopping down next to him. Zayn doesn’t say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, but he regrets it immediately, because Louis catches on right away that something’s wrong. Five years of living with four other lads and there’s not a single cue they can’t pick up about each other. With the other three, when they catch Zayn in this kind of funk, they know to stay away, let him work it out on his own, but Louis. Louis is always nosy, always pushing even if he’s not wanted, and while any other time, Zayn might appreciate that, it doesn’t quite work when Louis is adding on to Zayn’s growing frustration.

Louis is quiet for a moment before turning to look at him, pensive look on his face. “It’s alright to be scared about this, you know,” he says, shifting a little closer to Zayn. “Two months ago, you were planning your wedding, and now,” he shrugs, picking at a loose thread on his jumper. “Now this.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Zayn says bitterly, as if he needs the reminder of how much he’s fucked up.

“Is this what you really want?” Louis asks suddenly, his expression serious. Zayn is completely taken aback by the question, just staring back at him in confusion, not sure what to say.

“You just need to be sure about it, you know?” Louis continues. “That this is what you want, to be a dad at this point in your life. I don’t think it’s going to bring Perrie back, but. You need to be sure that you want this kind of commitment. Babies aren’t easy, especially when you’ve got to deal with emotional trauma.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Zayn snaps, moving away and trying to stand up. Louis tucks his arm around his waist and holds him back, warm skin both an anchor and a chain.

Louis stays silent, just watching him, and Zayn knows he’s not going anywhere, not until Louis works it out of him. And why not, he thinks, pressing his hands to his face and kneading at his eyes until he can feel them watering. “I want to be a dad,” he says finally, leaning his head back on the couch. “I did. I do. But I wanted it to be with Perrie, not—not this. I never wanted this, I was always so careful before. But now it’s happened and I’ve got this little girl and she’s my responsibility and I think I love her, but I don’t know…I think if I had the choice, if I could go back to that phone call, I’d say no, but I’m always second guessing myself for thinking that, because what kind of person would do that to their own child? Be that selfish?”

“Zayn,” Louis says softly, shifting into a more comfortable position, but keeping his arm tight around Zayn’s waist, either because he wants to or because of the death grip Zayn has on his wrist. Zayn doesn’t care either way, he just wants Louis to stay here with him. “That doesn’t make you selfish. Everyone has regrets, that’s natural. But you made a decision and it’s up to you to decide whether it was the right one or not.”

“What if I just—decided it wasn’t working? I thought it would be easy. Even though maybe Perrie would be okay with it, but even when she wasn’t, I still tried to tell myself that I could do this. But now,” he stops, looking for the right words to justify what he’s feeling.

“I just…wouldn’t she be better off with someone who knows how to raise children? Or deal with the kind of shit she’s going through? I’m twenty-two years old, Louis. I didn’t ask for this. I wasn’t ready for it, and now that it’s been dumped on me, I don’t—don’t think I can do it.”

“So give her to your parents,” Louis tells him, looking at him in a way that makes Zayn squirm. “You’ve never been the best at taking responsibility for your fuck-ups, you know.”

“I am taking responsibility!” Zayn fires back, angry at being called out, even though deep down, he knows Louis is right.

Louis doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and a heavy silence falls between them. Zayn releases his grip on Louis’ wrist and wriggles out of his hold, arms wrapped around himself like a security blanket. He feels ill, head spinning, stomach aching and  he just wants to pull a quilt over his head and shut out the world along with everything and everyone in it.

“She’s your daughter,” Louis finally says, reaching a hand up to comb through Zayn’s hair. “No shit, this was going to be hard, like, it’s a baby. I don’t know who told you raising a baby was easy, but they lied.” There’s a hint of a smile on Louis’ face, but it doesn’t echo in his voice, not yet. “That girl, her mum, she never tried to take you to court or force you to acknowledge her, even though she put your name down on the birth certificate. She never asked for money or tried to blackmail you.  But now she’s dead and you’ve got her daughter. Your daughter. She’s got no one else in the world but you, and it’s up to you to decide where you go from here.”

“I don’t want to be a father,” Zayn answers, his voice cracking as he speaks. Instead of relief, the knot in his chest just gets tighter and he squeezes his eyes shut, determined not to cry, not in front of Louis, not again. “I don’t want this, I want to go on tour and have fun and get high and marry my fiancée. I love her, but I don’t want to be a father.” He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels Louis’ arms around him, pulling him in for an awkward hug, hand soothing along his back. Something gives way at his touch and Zayn just breaks down. He cries until his face aches, til his nose burns and his hands tremble with the force of it. He cries until he's dizzy, until his sinuses swell shut, until he can't see can't hear can't think, just holds on to Louis and waits for his own sobs to stop.

“Well,” Louis finally says, cheek pressed against Zayn’s head, gently dabbing at Zayn’s eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. It would be comical if the whole situation wasn’t so serious. “There are two things you can, love. You either keep her and try and work through this, or you send her back to the social worker and tell her you’ve changed your mind.” He threads his fingers through Zayn’s hair and gives it a gentle tug. “You can ask me or the lads or anyone for advice and what we all think you ought to do, but the final decision is yours.”

“I wish it wasn’t,” Zayn mumbles. He’s in that weird oversensitive post-crying phase where everything is blurry and disorienting.

“I know. I won’t hate you, whatever you decide, no one will.” His words are meant to be reassuring, though they both know that there’s really only one decision he can make, but for now, Louis is at least willing to let him pretend he has a choice.

—————

By the time the final paperwork is completed, Zayn is starting to forget that he ever had any regrets about giving her up. He’s still not sure how he’s going to manage bringing a toddler on tour with him, but he knows he wants her there. He wants her with him, and he doesn’t know whether it’s his newly developed paternal instincts at work or what. But it doesn’t matter. She’s his daughter in every sense of the word, and he loves her without reservation. It happened so fast, he thinks back, that it nearly blind-sided him, but there’s nothing better than seeing her smile, the way her hands reach for him by instinct, the way she curls her tiny body against him as he rocks her to sleep. Louis was right, that it’s not easy, never going to be easy, but it is worth it.

Laila slowly begins to open up to other people, still seeking refuge with Zayn, but at least she’s warming up to his family—her family now, too. In spite of his initial reluctance to ask for help, he spends most of June making frequent trips up to Bradford. His mother and sisters coo over her, and she’s already got his dad wrapped around her finger—he’s got a new toy or doll or book for her every time they come to visit.

It’s a nice distraction from the mayhem of the outside world. He’s still not worked things out with their PR on how to address this issue, just the brief statement they released when his engagement ended, that he was going through a difficult time and wanted some privacy. He media seemed happy to oblige at least, as long as he made the requisite appearances with the band. They haven’t got any long-distance travel on the schedule until late July, so it at least buys him some time to try and figure out what he’s going to do with her.

“You can leave her here with us while you tour,” his mother suggests. She, his father and sisters are sitting at the dining room table. Laila’s on the floor next to Zayn’s chair, playing with a stack of blocks.

“I don’t want to leave her,” he answers, reaching down to touch the top of his daughter’s head. She looks up at him and smiles before going back to her blocks. “I _can’t_ leave her.”

“Zayn, you can’t possibly take a baby on a three month cross-country tour,” his father insists, voice firm. “She needs stability, a routine. She’s not going to get that sleeping in hotels and on airplanes.”

Zayn knows his parents have a point, but he isn’t backing down from this one, not this time.

“She’ll have stability,” he argues back. “She’ll have me, she’ll have the other lads, and I know Lou and Caroline wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her during shows, she can play with Lux and Brooklyn when they’re around.”

He catches his parents exchanging a glance, and it doesn’t sit well with him.

“Look, I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions. I made the decision to keep her. She’s my responsibility. It’s not like I’ve got a factory job or summat. I can handle it.”

“And when she cries in the middle of the night and you’ve got an interview at eight the next morning? When she’s running a high fever while you have to be out performing? Zayn, be sensible. You can’t pass her around like a doll when you’re busy. She’ll need attention—”

“Which I can give her!” He loves his parents, but he can’t stand their constant nagging him about this. He feels torn in half by his responsibilities with the band and his responsibilities as a father. They keep insisting that he can’t do both, but he’s determined to prove that he can, that he’s perfectly capable of this, that they don’t have to doubt him.

“I’ll help.”

His younger sister’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts, everyone staring at Waliyha.

“Help with what?” Zayn asks, though he’s already sure he knows the answers.

“I’ll come along when Zayn goes on tour. I wanted to take a gap year anyway and you both said I could,” she adds quickly, because neither of their parents look very happy about this. “It’ll work out perfectly. I’ll get to travel and see the world like I’ve always wanted, Zayn gets an on-call babysitter and Laila has her favourite auntie with her.”

There’s a brief squabble between her and Safaa about that last statement, but Zayn’s looking at his parents with pleading eyes. It’s not the way he’d prefer it, but if it comes between leaving her behind while he’s on tour and having Waliyha tag along to look after her, he’s already made up his mind. The difficult part is convincing his parents, because he knows their idea of a gap year for his sister isn’t babysitting her niece in luxury hotels.

“When we said you could do a gap year, we thought you meant charity work or volunteering abroad,” Patricia says, shaking her head. “This isn’t what we had in mind.”

“Technically, I am volunteering abroad, mum. Come on, it’s perfect. It’ll be the two of us, and it’ll be much easier for me to take her places than it would be for Zayn.”

“She could come spend a few days with us next week?” Zayn offers. He’s got press, and more meetings with PR on how they’re going to deal with all this. Having his sister over would ease the burden at least. “We could use it as a trial run, let Laila adjust to having Waliyha around, at least?”

“We’ll think about it,” his dad says after a moment, and Zayn and Waliyha exchange grins, because generally when their parents say that, it ends up being a yes more often than not.

And the odds are definitely in their favour this time. His parents eventually give in and agree to Waliyha joining him on tour, as long as he clears it with their team and promises not to take advantage of her help. She’ll turn eighteen just before their first show, but she’s still young and vulnerable and Zayn nods solemnly, promising to play the responsible big brother in addition to his role as a responsible father.

It all seems overwhelming, he thinks on the drive home, tapping his fingers on the wheel in tune to the upbeat kid’s song playing on the radio. It still boggles his mind how much his life has changed in the last two months. There are still a million things he needs to figure out, a million choices he suddenly has to make every day, because now there’s a little person that he’s making decisions for, and it’s just. Complicated. Life is complicated, and though he knows for sure now that it’ll never get easier, it’s becoming much more manageable. Right now, he’s completely focused on his daughter, and everything else, even his career, has to take a backseat. Mostly, he’s just grateful that this all timed perfectly with the band’s couple months of downtime.

—————

His phone goes off almost as soon as he’s done tiptoeing out of Laila’s bedroom. It’s Louis, and Zayn hurries down the hall to his own room, shutting the door before he answers. “What’s up?”

“I know it’s late but could I come round?” The voice on the other end sounds tired, and that’s not like Louis at all. But Zayn’s never been one to turn down a friend.

“Yeah, I just put Laila to sleep, come on over. Ring me when you get here, I don’t want the doorbell to wake her up.”

“Sure, yeah. Be there soon,” Louis says, ending the call before Zayn has a chance to say anything. That’s not like Louis either, but there’s no point dwelling on it, he can pester him about whatever is going on when he gets there.

Which ends up being sooner than Zayn expected, normally the drive from Louis’ place to his takes half an hour, but Louis is there within ten minutes, bleary eyed and Zayn’s not sure, but he thinks he smells alcohol on Louis’ breath as he stumbles through the front door.

“Had a fight with El,” he says, brushing past Zayn and collapsing onto the couch, dropping his arm over his eyes dramatically.

Zayn lets out a long-suffering sigh. He likes Eleanor well enough, but he’s known things have been bad between her and Louis for a while now, though Louis has never elaborated on why and Zayn has never asked.

“Haven’t got any stuff,” Zayn tells him, easing in next to him. Louis rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Didn’t want that. I just couldn’t be there alone, I hate being alone. I had all this shit planned for us to do tonight and she just looked at me like she couldn’t be bothered. I know she’s upset about the proposal thing, but I told her I wasn’t ready then, and I’ve been trying to make it up to her for _months_ , but it’s like she’s decided I had my chance and now she’s going to do everything to push me away.”

It’s an awkward conversation for Zayn, considering the circumstances, but he does his best to try and comfort Louis, despite the pangs of jealousy he feels.

“You’ve been together, what, nearly four years now? That’s longer than I was with Perrie, why couldn’t you just—”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you and Perrie,” Louis interrupts. “It’s not that I’m scared to commit to her, so don’t pull that shit with me. I love her, she’s amazing and I feel happy when I’m with her. Felt happy, I guess. I got caught off guard when she started going on about rings, but I put a lot of thought into it, and now I feel like whatever good we had between us is gone. The more I try, the more she pulls away. And I thought I knew what I wanted but then she was just bloody distant tonight and now I don’t know what I want anymore. And it makes me sound like a twat, doesn’t it?”

Zayn opens his mouth to say no, of course not, but well. He can’t exactly lie like that.

“A bit, yeah. Maybe you just need time apart to see how things go. You know absence makes th—”

“Makes the heart grow fonder, yeah, I know. We’ll see. She’s got job shit to take care of, so I can’t imagine her visiting much. Maybe. We’ll see.” Louis begins rubbing soft circles along Zayn’s hip, his touch gentle and Zayn lets his eyes flicker shut.

“Remember Marbella?” Louis asks, shifting on the couch so he’s facing Zayn from the side. “Before we had any of this shit to deal with.”

“Mmm, sneaking out, trying to bum drinks off the locals because Simon wouldn’t give us any spending money.” He laughs at the memory; it all seems so long ago, back when he was young and a bit stupid and finding relief in his homesickness with four other lads in the exact same boat as he was.

“Yeah. Seems like ages ago,” Louis murmurs, hand nudging up Zayn’s shirt. “Was just thinking of that night we stayed in when everyone else went out. Remember that?”

Zayn opens his eyes, staring over at Louis, whose face is suddenly too close to his own. He knows exactly what Louis is talking about, can almost remember the smell of the sea from their bedroom window, the sound of the waves on the sand, the way Louis’ lips felt on his own…

And suddenly the memory is real and Louis’ mouth is on his and his brain is screaming at him to pull away, because they agreed to stop this two years ago when Zayn proposed and even though that’s over, there’s still Eleanor, but he doesn’t want to stop, because it feels like ages since he’d kissed someone like this.

Louis pulls away first, breathing hard and sitting back on his heels. He’s looking at Zayn with the strangest expression on his face, eyebrow quirked but all Zayn can focus on are his lips and how badly he wants to kiss them again and—

“I’m gonna stay the night,” Louis says, getting up from the couch, tugging at his shirt in an effort to hide the obvious bulge in his pants. Zayn’s eyes flicker down and back up before Louis notices, pushing himself up from the couch to beckon Louis toward the stairs.

“D’you want a shower before?” Zayn asks, trying to play the courteous host as if they hadn’t just been snogging each other a moment ago.

“Yeah, that would be ace, sure. I know where everything is, you don’t have to show me,” Louis adds quickly, a little too quickly in Zayn’s opinion, but he’s not going to press any further.

“Just put out fresh sheets in this one,” Zayn tells him, pointing to the guest room he was planning to put his sister in. “See you in the morning, then?” Louis nods, that odd look still on his face as they part ways, Zayn for his room, Louis for the guest bathroom.

He tries to fall asleep, really does, but he can’t, his mind preoccupied with that kiss earlier, and that funny look Louis had worn on his face since. Things like that had always been their secret, born that night in Marbella out of simple curiosity between teenage boys that blossomed into a need for companionship from someone trustworthy. It was nice to know that they could find a little comfort in each other when things got too crazy.

And even when they’d stopped the kisses and the touching and everything else that came with it, even when they’d moved from friends with benefits back to just friends, that companionship had never faded. He remembers their time in Australia two years ago with fondness, late nights in the trailer, getting high and playing FIFA and being carefree. He wouldn’t call that simpler times, but it was certainly easier. They had the world at their feet and nothing, absolutely nothing could bring them down.

If he’s being honest, he does miss that time, back when he was younger, dumber and more idealistic. He still feels woefully inadequate, and honestly, he does need the reality checks that life likes to throw at him on occasion, although he’s never had one quite as big as parenthood. But he’s coming to terms with it. Laila is fully embedded into every facet of his life now, and Zayn doesn’t want anything else to get in the way of that.

He’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t immediately register the door to his bedroom opening, not until he hears Louis’ soft, “Zayn?” His body stills, eyes snapping shut and he tries to regulate his breathing, make it sound as natural as possible so he can convince Louis he’s sleeping. He can’t hear anything but his own soft breathing and he almost cracks an eye open to see if Louis is still here, but he feels the blankets shift and the bed dip as Louis slides in next to him. Zayn isn’t sure what he’s expecting to happen next, body tense again until he hears Louis sigh, shifting around to face him, Zayn assumes from how close his voice sounds now, and whispering, “’Night, Zayn.”

A hand closes around his own and gives it a little squeeze before falling away. When Zayn finally cracks open his eyes, all he sees is Louis’ back, turned away from him. He doesn’t understand why his heart is beating so fast all of a sudden. It’s easy enough to rationalise it away as just a yearning for intimate human contact, and he forces himself to relax and try to sleep before he can dwell on it too much. Life’s thrown him enough twists lately, he’s not sure he’s ready for anything else to come in and complicate his life even further. He’s always had a complex relationship with Louis, ever since Marbella and the first time they’d kissed, a pair of clueless kids who had no idea what they were doing. Zayn’s pretty sure they still have no idea, but it’s nice to know he’s always got Louis around to at least help him pretend like everything’s okay.

—————

There’s a media frenzy once they issue a press release revealing Laila’s existence. Zayn knows there’s all sorts of rampant speculation in the papers and on the internet. Most of his family and close friends know by now, so it’s no surprise to them, but the tabloids are having an absolute fit over it. He allows one exclusive interview with _The Sun_ , and then its radio silence on his end. He’s always tried to keep his private life, well, private, and the last thing he wants are cameras shoved in his daughter’s face. Waliyha shows up just in time, keeping Laila occupied while he’s out doing press, recording songs, rehearsing for the tour. It’s exhausting enough on its own, and he’d love to be able to come home and just crawl in bed for the rest of the evening the way he used to do.

But he’d promised his parents not to overwork his sister—she’s there to help, not do all the work for him. The moment he sets foot inside the house, Laila is his full responsibility again, though his sister is happy enough to take over kitchen duty in exchange for a few hours of peace and quiet—and maybe an occasional shopping trip. It’s a rough start, because Laila isn’t too pleased about Zayn leaving for hours at a time, but she begins to adjust once she realises he’s coming back at the end of the day, usually just as she’s waking up from her afternoon nap. It’s a nice routine for them, but it doesn’t last long and the departure date for the tour arrives faster than Zayn is ready for.

He’d taken care of the paperwork for Laila’s passport weeks ago, but actually holding it in his hands is kind of surreal. It’s just. He has a daughter. It’s been two and a half months and things like this still catch him by surprise sometimes.

He’s also surprised at how desperate people are to get photographs of her. He’s hounded every time he drives into London, the press camping out at the studio where they’ve been rehearsing, always expecting that he’s going to bring his daughter in. He can’t remember the last time he had this much attention focused solely on him. He managed a low profile after his split with Perrie went public, but he can’t do that now, and the press attention is stifling.

It’s good for Waliyha though, because it means with the attention focused on him when it comes to Laila, she can take his daughter on strolls through the parks in London. Sunglasses on, she blends in with the other nannies and young mothers quite easily.

“No one thinks to look somewhere like that,” she tells him after their first park visit, once she’s calmed his nerves about the whole thing. “It’s full of ladies pushing prams, and I’m not glamorous enough to be mistaken for a celebrity.” She does a dramatic flip of her hair and Zayn rolls his eyes. It’s risky, but. He allows it, because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to shield his daughter from the nastier side of what he does. So yeah, it’s a risk, but one he’s willing to take if it means she can have a few nice afternoons at the park with her favourite auntie without cameras following them around.

—————

In the end, it’s his own fault that the paparazzi finally get their shot. He stops Caroline at the end of one of their rehearsals and asked her to bring Brooklyn down to the park tomorrow afternoon. They’ve got the day off and he figures since their girls are about the same age, it would be nice for Laila to get to know another toddler, someone her own age she can play with while they’re on tour.

He’s got the day off anyway, and since Waliyha’s gone back home for a couple days to spend some time with her friends before they leave, it’ll be nice to get out of the house with her. He’s always been pretty good at staying low-key when people aren’t expecting him to be somewhere, and so far, that’s been true of today as well. They make it to the park with not much trouble, and the way he’s holding her doesn’t give people a good look at his face. He’s meeting Caroline at half two, but they arrive a little early, so he walks around a bit with her, showing her the statue of Peter Pan and every so often, letting her stop and smell the flowers.

It’s something he never imagined himself doing, not for years ahead, and yet here he is, on an incognito stroll through Kensington Gardens with his daughter in his arms. It’s nice though, a chance to let his guard down with her.

They’re near the Round Pond, and Zayn’s glancing down at his phone to see if Caroline’s arrived yet, when he hears the familiar click of a camera lens. He freezes, his whole body tensing, precious seconds ticking by while he desperately tries to think of a way to get out of this situation. Laila’s oblivious, laughing and pointing at the swans, and he doesn’t want to take this from her. He tries to tell himself that it’s just tourists getting photos of the pond, but he knows he might as well expect the worst. All he can do is use his body to try and shield her face. Let them get all the photos of his back that they want, he still wants her to have privacy, at least until they leave for the tour.

One of the swans flaps its wings, and Laila, intimidated, turns and buries her face in his legs, reaching up for him to hold her. He scoops her up in one quick motion, holding her a little awkwardly against his chest as he starts for the park exit, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. This was a bad idea, he thinks, juggling Laila in one arm as he tugs his phone from his pocket. He’s got a missed call and a text from Caroline, explaining to him they’ve just missed their train and he quickly texts her back to tell her to just meet up at his place, they can have lunch there, away from the invasive gaze of the camera lens. He doesn’t know if they’re being followed, doesn’t really want to know, just intent on getting them back to his car, back home.

—————

The photos are all over the internet by the next morning. There are seven shots, but they’re thankfully blurry and there’s no shot of her face, just a couple of the back of her head. Mark, one of their PR people, calls him midway through breakfast, asking what he’d like them to do about the photos. Ultimately, he decides not to do anything—the photos are already there, and he figures trying to get them taken down is just going to end up driving up interest. The pictures aren’t much, but they exist and hopefully it’ll be enough to get them through the next two days until they leave for America.

—————

In the end, he manages to get Waliyha and Laila on an earlier flight with one of their bodyguards. It’ll be the first time he hasn’t been there to put Laila to bed, but she’s adjusted well enough to Waliyha that he crosses his fingers that it’ll work out fine. So the two of them fly out to New York a day ahead of time and he tells his sister to stay in the hotel until he gets there. Not that he thinks people will think to look for his sister in New York City, but he doesn’t want to risk anything crazy happening. Waliyha phones from the hotel to tell him they got in safely, though it doesn’t stop his anxiousness to get there and join them, wondering when on earth he’d turned into his mother.

It turns out, sending his sister and daughter out ahead of time was the absolute best idea he’s had in a while. The crowd of fans and photographers gathered to see them off is enormous. They’ve come to expect this kind of reception when people know they’re about to go on tour, but Zayn doesn’t like the way so many of the cameras focus on him, people yelling his name and asking where Laila is, snippets of invasive questions he has no intention of ever answering. Niall gives him a little shove to move him along, muttering for him to just ignore it, but it’s hard to ignore it when people are jostling along, cameras flashing in their faces as they try to get to their gate. They’ve got security clearance and Zayn’s thankful for that too, just trying to keep his head down. “Now I know how you feel,” he tells Harry grimly. Their bodyguards keep a tight circle around them, preventing people in the gate area from approaching too closely. Honestly, none of them will ever get used to the screams that follow them everywhere they go, but for a variety of reasons, they’re more irritating to Zayn today. All he wants is to get to New York and make sure his little girl is alright.

He sends Waliyha a quick text before the plane takes off, knowing it’s still fairly early and hoping it doesn’t wake them up. But Waliyha’s reply comes quickly, too quickly for it to be a sleepy response: ‘ugh please hurry :(’ She’s awake and he can bet that Laila is too.

He’s not sure how to interpret the message, but before he gets a chance to reply, the flight attendant is telling him to shut his phone off. He manages a short ‘cya soon x’ and tries not to spend the next eight hours worrying too much. He plays cards with Louis for a while, steals Liam’s ipod and then finally dozes off, jolting awake only when the plane touches down on the runway in New York.

The mayhem in JFK is nearly as bad as Heathrow, maybe worse since it’s mid-afternoon here and there are more people camped out to wait for them. Harry and Liam want to stop for autographs and photos, but the crowd is too big, so they’re hustled out to the shuttle vans. Zayn’s more relieved than anything, waiting until they’re in the relative quiet of the vans before calling his sister to tell her they’ve arrived.

She doesn’t answer.

As if he wasn’t worried already.

He tries her twice more, still nothing. He hasn’t got the number of the bodyguard that’s here with them and naturally, Paul’s in the other van with Harry and Niall.

“Maybe she’s gone down for lunch?” Liam suggests helpfully, although it doesn’t stop Zayn’s mind racing over why she’d leave her phone behind—which Louis brings up before he gets his mouth open.

“If your sister is anything like mine,” Louis begins, in an effort to reassure him. “Then she’s joined at the hip to her phone. Maybe they’re just napping and she put it on silent. We’re nearly there, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

Honestly, Zayn is expecting the worst, if only to prepare himself for the relief he hopes to feel when everything ends up being fine.

He’s been given a connecting room next to his sister’s, and half sprinting down the hall toward the lift, dragging along his case and punching the floor button.

His phone goes off right as the doors open—it’s Waliyha, but he doesn’t bother picking up, because he can hear Laila’s crying from halfway down the hall and his only focus is getting to the room to soothe his daughter.

He only gets a single knock in and the door is flung open, his sister looking wild-eyed, her phone against her ear and Laila howling in her arms. The second he walks into the room, Waliyha shoves his daughter into his arms. “She missed you,” is all she says before grabbing her purse and pushing past him.

“Where are—?” He begins, she cuts him off irritably.

“Remember how I told you that she slept the entire plane ride? Well she woke up around the time we got here and she’s done nothing but scream her lungs out because she woke up and you weren’t here. I’ve not slept in like a day.”

He can tell, detecting the faint circles of exhaustion under her eyes. Laila’s stopped crying, just clinging to him for dear life and making hiccupping little sobs.

“I’m going down to the hotel spa to get a massage and then I’m coming back up here to sleep. I’ve already put her sh—stuff in your room. The crib’s too small for her, so you’ll have to put her in bed with you. Maybe she’ll actually sleep then. Don’t bother me for the next twenty-four hours.”

There’s a finality to her words as she turns round and tugs the door shut behind her. Zayn thinks maybe having them leave only a couple hours earlier would’ve been better.

He carries Laila through the connecting door into his room, a bit bigger, and more spacious than Waliyha’s. There’s an infant-sized crib against the wall, definitely too small for Laila, so he carries her over and sets her down on the bed, hoping that she’ll be calm enough knowing that he’s here and he do a little unpacking. He’s barely got his case unzipped before Laila’s face crumples and she begins to cry again. He abandons that for now, picking Laila up again and cuddling her close to him.

“Shh, baby, it’s alright, I’m here, see?” He kisses her cheek, trying to rock her in his arms. “I bet you missed me, I missed seeing your happy little smile, c’mon, can you give Daddy a smile?”

She pauses and stares at him for a second and then begins crying even harder. He spots her pacifier on the bedside table, but she spits it out as soon as he gets it in her mouth, reaching for something behind him, and he turns, catching the little glimpse of grey and letting out the biggest sigh of relief.

“MashaʼAllah,” he mutters under his breath, seizing the stuffed rabbit and pushing it into her arms. There’s a relived sigh in miniature from Laila, squeezing the rabbit against her. She’d left it in his room after she’d fallen asleep in his lap and he’d completely forgotten to pack it into her case before they’d left. The little bunny had become a kind of security blanket for her, and he wonders if maybe the combination of not having her bunny _or_ her dad had set her off into one of her uncontrollable crying fits. She’d been getting better at separations, but they’d never been apart this long since she’d come to live with him.

But he’s here with her now, kicking off his shoes and crawling into the bed with her curled up next to him, one hand clinging tightly to her bunny and the other clinging on to his t-shirt as if he’ll disappear if she lets go.

It’s kind of strange, having someone need you so much like this, but somehow, it only makes him love her more. Paternal instincts kicking in again, maybe, he doesn’t know for sure, but he can’t deny he’s touched to be on the receiving end of it. And, he thinks, watching as her eyes start to drift closed, in the short time he’s come to know his daughter, he thinks maybe he’s already started to need her too.

—————

It takes a week or so, but they finally get into the swing of things. Having tour buses lets them avoid dealing with the hassle of airports and they can pull right up to the back entrance of the hotel and get inside in complete privacy. The paparazzi are tricky, but they’ve still not managed to get anything high quality. He’s vaguely aware that there are grainy fan photos that exist, but at this point, Zayn’s pretty much perfected the art of stealthiness while being on tour. It’s just a little harder than before because he’s not used to having this level of interest on him.

The shows have been going well so far too. Waliyha stays backstage with Laila, keeping an eye on her while she plays with Caroline’s daughter. Zayn knows that his parents worry about what kind of affect this sort of nomadic lifestyle will have on her, but he thinks she’s been coping well so far. They’re in different cities almost every other night, but he tries to at least maintain a routine for her.

Laila still has her crying spells, waking up in the middle of the night sometimes, calling for her mother and clinging to Zayn like a little starfish as she sobs herself back to sleep. It’s still hard, harder than he’d ever expected, but despite his initial hesitation, in spite of all of the struggles and frustrations, loving her has never been easier. He loves waking up to her little hand pressed against his cheek, curly brown hair falling all over her face and into her bright hazel eyes, eyes that very much match his own, down to the little freckle in the corner of her iris. When she smiles at him, his stomach twists into knots and he forgets what his life was like without her, can’t imagine her not being with him. He still misses Perrie, still thinks about her, still feels a pang of shame whenever someone else says her name or mentions Little Mix; but Laila’s helped patch up the hole in his heart, become the absolute centre of his world.

His bandmates all adore her, and she warms up to them more with each passing day, though Louis remains her favourite and Zayn thinks it maybe has something to do with Louis stopping by every so often in the beginning. It’s nice for her though, to be surrounded by another giant family in addition to his own biological one. She’s still shy, but she’s starting to open up more. Paul, in particular, is remarkably gentle with her, and their bodyguards tease Zayn all the time when he fusses at them for sneaking her cookies that he insists will ruin her appetite.

“Your brother’s become too sensible,” Niall informs Waliyha one evening, a third of the way through the tour. Now that Zayn has an excuse for having a bigger room in hotels, his tends to become the official group hang out. Waliyha usually doesn’t join them, but it’s pissing rain out and they’re having a movie night, although they’ve paused the film for a moment to let Louis answer his mobile. It’s Eleanor, if Louis’ reaction when it answers is any indication, immediately jumping up and dashing out to the balcony, the sliding glass door rattling as he slams it shut. Things have been rocky between them for a while now, but Louis seems hell-bent on making it work.

“Zayn’s always been quite sensible, but he’s only like that when it comes to himself,” Waliyha says, getting up to stick another bag of popcorn into the microwave. “He only seems more sensible now that he’s got the baby.”

Zayn tosses a piece of popcorn at her while the others snicker. Laila, on the floor playing with her blocks, turns up to look at him. He smiles at her and she gives him a toothy little grin before turning back to her toys.

“Shame he didn’t share any of that sensibility with you,” Harry jokes, getting up to take a beer from the mini fridge.

“I’m the charming one of the family,” Waliyha says with a laugh, smiling at Harry when he approaches and looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. Zayn’s watching them and there’s the sudden shocked realisation that his little sister is growing-up, that she’s beautiful. He's always known in that sort of half-proud, half-protective brotherly way, but it's entirely different to see her using that beauty in front of him. Especially toward Harry, whom she’s long harboured a crush on. It’s not quite flirtation but not quite a joke either, and he can tell Harry has no idea how to react to someone who catches him off guard with their own form of charm. Sisters have always been off-limits, and Zayn does have to admit that it’s amusing to watch Harry’s hesitation, mind working furiously to figure out if she’s flirting or just teasing. After a moment, he just laughs and grabs her in a huge hug, brotherly more than anything, to Zayn’s relief. When Harry finally lets her go, she's normal again and just smacks him on the arm before checking on Laila, who's elected to ignore them all in favour of trying to stack her block tower.

There’s a muffled yelling sound coming from the balcony, drawing everyone’s attention toward the sliding door, where Louis is waving his arms wildly, clearly upset about something. Zayn’s grateful for the distraction, making it easier to pretend that awkward moment never happened.

“They’ve been doing this a lot lately,” Harry observes, moving toward the door and pulling the curtain closed, at least to offer Louis a little privacy. His words surprise Zayn, because aside from that night Louis showed up drunk at his place, he hasn’t noticed anything being amiss between them. But Harry's normally pretty quiet when it comes to other people's business, and for him to mention the fighting means there must be a lot more of it than Zayn's realised.

“Really?”

Niall snorts. “Haven’t you noticed? Every time they call one another, they end up fussing at each other. Didn’t you notice at dinner last week?”

“No, that was probably the night Laila was being cranky, we just had dinner in my room. Was it that bad?”

“It’s getting worse,” Liam says with a heavy sigh. “Half the time he can’t even be arsed to answer, and when he does…” he trails off as the sliding door opens and slams shut again, Louis charging through the room, red-faced and his phone still pressed to his ear as he makes a beeline for the door and hurries out of the room.

“D’you think she’ll still come down?” Niall asks, still staring at the door. “Lou said she’d be down for Miami, I don’t know if I’m keen on sitting round while they fight in person.”

“They’ll probably patch things up in the end, they always do,” Harry shrugs, bending down to offer a piece of popcorn to Laila, who leans over and eats it right out of his hand. “No manners at all,” he adds with a shake of his head, ruffling her hair.

“S’nice having her here,” Liam hums, dropping down next to Laila and poking at her block tower. Laila stills for a moment and Zayn braces himself for tears, but miraculously, she just sticks her hand out to mimic Liam’s, knocking the blocks over and erupting into peals of delighted laughter.

“You lot are only saying that because you don’t have to get up at seven in the morning to change her diapers,” Zayn tells them, scooping Laila up and blowing kisses into her belly, loving the sound of her laugh. Her little hands flail and he keeps at it until she suddenly shrieks, “Daddy, noooo!”

It’s the first time she’s ever said anything other than “Mama” in his presence and he holds her steady in his arms, not believing what he’s just heard. Waliyha gives a soft gasp of understanding, and though his brain acknowledges that his sister’s just said something, he’s only paying attention to Laila, pulling her close and just holding her. She makes a little noise of protest, so he loosens his hold on her, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he places her gently back down on the ground with her blocks. She tilts her head to look up at him, smiling, then picks up one of her blocks, looking at it closely, and throws it at Liam’s nose.

The spell over the room is broken once again, everyone erupting in laughter. Liam sits up, rubbing his nose and Zayn snorts. “Still nice having her here?” He asks, leaning down to pat Liam on the head. “Don’t ask where she learnt that from, it definitely wasn’t me.”

—————

Zayn’s just gotten Laila to sleep when there’s a soft knock at the door. He assumes it’s just one of the lads forgetting something and coming back for it, but he checks the door just in case, on the off chance that some fan is knocking on every door in the hotel looking for them. Stranger things have happened.

He sees Louis through the peephole and opens up right away.

“You alright?” Zayn asks, stepping back to let Louis into the room before shutting the door behind him. Louis looks grim.

“Yeah, peachy. Sorry about earlier, had to deal with some personal stuff,” he says vaguely. Zayn can tell he doesn’t want to elaborate, so he doesn’t push it.

“Want a smoke?” He asks, waving his lighter at Louis. He’s desperately trying to break the habit, and he never smokes with Laila around, but sometimes he just needs one when things get too stressful. He knows Louis is the same way, and the other man nods, following him out outside.

Zayn places two sticks in his mouth, lights them both, and then hands one over to Louis, who takes it eagerly.

“Laila called me daddy today,” Zayn tells him, in an effort to get rid of the silence hanging between them. Louis’ face shows genuine happiness and Zayn’s glad to make him smile.

“Only a matter of time before I teach her to say ‘Uncle Louis’ then,” he says, taking a deep drag. “I was thinking maybe I could help out with her sometimes? Feels like we haven’t gotten to properly talk in ages, you know?”

“We haven’t,” Zayn agrees, nudging at Louis’ ankle with his foot. “Mostly because you lot run whenever I ask who wants to help with diaper changes.”

“Can you really blame us?” Louis asks innocently, nudging him right back. Then his smile drops, voice quiet. “I think El’s going to break up with me.”

Zayn stills, frowning. “Is that what earlier was all about?” He asks carefully. Louis nods.

“It’s been bad between us for ages. I don’t want things to end, but every time we talk to each other…”

“You argue,” Zayn finishes for him. Another nod.

“She’s supposed to come down while we’re in Miami. We’ve got a break, so I think I’m going to try and fix things.”

“D’you think it’s going to work?” _Do you want it to?_ He wants to add, but he holds his tongue. He’s not going to be a twat about his just because his own relationship is over.

But Louis is shaking his head, giving a resigned sigh. “I think she’ll show up and we’ll put on a show like we’re still happy together. And we’ll go out to dinner and pretend we’re madly in love and the night before she leaves, I’m going to ask her to come out and watch the sunset with me so I can propose like any normal bloke, but she’ll take me aside instead and tell me it’s been a lovely four years but things haven’t been good between us in a while and they likely won’t go back to the way they were, so maybe it’s for the best that we end it like proper adults, no hard feelings, except I’m fucking furious. At her, at myself.” He shakes his head, tossing the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray between them. “What a proper fucking mess we’ve gotten ourselves in to, eh?”

Zayn lets out a harsh laugh, tossing his cigarette in with Louis’ and pushing himself up out of his seat. It’s hard for him not to hold a little bitterness about his own relationship ending, and maybe it’s selfish of him, but it’ll be nice to have someone to commiserate with. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed. Come inside whenever, just don’t be loud. I love you, but I’ll throttle you if you wake Laila up. I’ll leave this out if you want another one,” he adds, waving his pack of cigarettes before setting it back down on the table and heading inside. The room feels nice and cool, a solid improvement from the humidity outside, even at this late in the evening.

He strips off his clothes, tossing them in a pile onto the floor before tugging on a t-shirt and his sweatpants. Laila is curled up in the middle of the bed, thumb in her mouth, her little bunny safely tucked against her side.

“She’s lovely,” comes Louis’ voice, soft at his ear, making Zayn jump.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

“You threatened my life, what else was I supposed to do?”

Zayn chuckles softly, bending down to shift Laila over. “You should stay.”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, quiet enough that Zayn turns around to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. Louis is watching him with a funny look on his face, but the moment their eyes meet, Louis reddens and looks away.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he murmurs, causing Zayn to scoff and give him a little shove before reaching for his hand and tugging him down onto the bed.

“I don’t feel any sorrier for you than you do for me. But you’ve been there for me through all my shit, so it’s the least I can do, even if you’ve not been dumped yet.”

“Thanks,” Louis scowls, kicking his shoes off and wriggling out of his jeans, throwing them onto the pile to mingle with Zayn’s.

“I don’t want this to be a pity thing,” Louis tells him when they’re both settled underneath the covers. It’s a king-size bed and there’s plenty of room for three, Laila safely tucked between them with space to spare. Zayn’s rubbing her back gently and he looks up at Louis with a frown.

“I already told you, it’s not.”

“I mean, after this. I know you still miss Perrie, even if you have Laila to distract you, you’re still hurting. I know we’re going to end up like before, and I don’t want it being just because we’re both lonely.”

“You kissed me first,” Zayn points out, trying to keep his voice low.

“You kissed me back,” Louis argues back, a little defensive. Zayn can’t blame him. It’s true. He could’ve pushed him away. Probably should have, but he hadn’t wanted to then, nor is he about to do that now.

“We promised that we’d always be there for each other. I still mean that, and I know you do too. Just because I’ve got a kid doesn’t change things.”

“It complicates things.”

“I’m not asking you to play house with me,” Zayn says, immediately regretting his choice of words as Louis goes quiet. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just. If things don’t work out between you and El, you can come cry on my shoulder. It’s only fair since I cried all over yours.”

Louis doesn’t answer him for a while, and the silence stretches on so long that Zayn thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep. He lets out a resigned sigh, shifting around a little, trying to get comfortable.

“I did mean what I said earlier,” Louis’ voice breaks through the silence, soft, tone uncertain. “When I told you I wanted to help with Laila. I was serious about that. I’m not asking to play house with you,” he echoes Zayn’s words, and Zayn can hear the intentional sting in them. “I need a distraction, and your sister needs a break.”

“Great,” Zayn says with a yawn, nestling down into the blankets. “You can start by changing Laila tomorrow morning. That should be a good distraction for you.”

—————

It’s still not easy, but Zayn doesn’t think it’ll ever be, and he’s grown to love the challenge. Surrounded by so many people, Laila is almost forced to emerge from her little shell, but never too much, always checking back to see if he’s there. She doesn’t like being held by anyone but Zayn and sometimes Waliyha, particularly when it’s naptime or bedtime and she’s cranky, but she’s starting to make exceptions for the other lads, Louis especially, because he’s spending most of his time with them now.

It’s weird, but it’s nice, because helping out with Laila keeps Louis’ mind off of his impending confrontation with Eleanor. Left to his own devices, he sometimes turns into a loose cannon, snapping at everyone and about everything, but Laila makes him soften his tone, puts a smile on his face. She’s got an infectious charm when she’s in a good mood, and even when she’s not, her crying spells and temper tantrums provide an excellent distraction.

And Louis is an absolute marvel with her, slipping seamlessly into the routine Zayn and Waliyha have set up. He’s taken to stealing into Zayn’s room in the evenings, under the guise of helping out with Laila. On the nights they have shows, Waliyha usually gets her bathed and undressed by the time he’s back, and Laila’s always waiting up for him, sleepy and a little cranky, fighting off yawn after yawn as she reaches up for her good night kiss. Now she demands them from Louis too, and if Waliyha’s noticed that Louis’ belongings have gradually begun appearing in his hotel rooms, she plays the good sister and keeps quiet about it.

There are certain things Zayn keeps quiet about too, like the way he sometimes wakes up with Louis pressed against his back, legs tangled up together. Sometimes, he wakes with his arm casually thrown around Louis’ waist, cheek pressed up against his chest, and he has to bolt up and into the bathroom before Louis can stir.

Most of the time he’s back before Louis even wakes up, although there are times Zayn suspects Louis is awake too, can practically feel the eyes on his back as he locks the bathroom door and douses himself in cold water.

But Louis never says anything.

So Zayn keeps quiet a little while longer.

—————

Miami in August is just as Zayn remembers it, hot, sticky, full of energy and excitement. A year ago, Zayn would’ve jumped at the chance to head down to the shops or stretch out on the private beach behind the villa they’ve rented for the next few days. It’s nice to have a couple days of down time after the last few weeks, but usually down time for him means full time with Laila. Being the kind, generous older brother he is, he gives Waliyha one of his credit cards, books her a room at the Mandarin Oriental and tells her to take the rest of the week off.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” She asks, eyebrow raised at the card, as if she doesn’t trust him. “It’s not, like, a fancy way of telling me that I’ve been sacked from my nanny duties, is it?”

“D’you think I’d give you my credit card if I was sacking you? You deserve the break. Just don’t spend too much, yeah? There’s a credit limit.”

She rolls her eyes, but hugs him tightly before going over to say goodbye to Laila. It’s difficult to explain temporary goodbyes to a toddler and Zayn catches the way her lip begins to wobble, quickly distracting her with the new bathing suit he’s bought her, since she’s starting to outgrow the old one. It’s got red trim with yellow stripes and a little strawberry in the middle that catches her attention right away, giving Waliyha time to slip through the door.

The swimsuit does a good job of distracting Laila. The moment she sees it, she wants to put it on, and makes splashing sounds that let Zayn know she wants to be taken to the pool, thank you very much.

“Got something much nicer than a pool,” he tells her, rummaging around in his case to find his own trunks and a bottle of sunscreen. In the water, Laila’s almost fearless and he decides she must’ve gotten that from her mother. She squirms in his lap while he applies the sunscreen, clearly impatient, and bolts for the door almost as soon as he sets her down, on her tip-toes trying to reach the knob to open it.

“Daddy!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he tells her with an over-exaggerated huff, grabbing the nappy bag and scooping her up into his arms. The house is fairly quiet, which surprises him until he realises everyone else had the same idea and is out on the beach too.

Harry tilts his head back and waves at them, blowing Laila a kiss that she giggles at before blowing one back.

The second Zayn puts her down on the sand, she’s crawling around looking for shells, and more than once Zayn has to swoop in and stop her from putting a handful of sand in her mouth.

“No,” he tells her sternly, after maybe the fifth time. “That’s not for eating, baby. Might make you sick. Here, look—” he tells her, digging into her bag and pulling out the small shovel and pail he’d bought at the airport. They’re just her size, but she stares at them in confusion, clearly not sure what she’s supposed to be doing with them.

Zayn takes the shovel and scoops a little bit of sand up, emptying it into the bucket. It takes a few moments before she gets it, but understanding etches on her face and she yanks the shovel out of his hand to give it a try.

“Laila,” he chides her, but it’s half-hearted at best. She’s having fun, laughing as she amuses herself for a little while by scooping and pouring, giving him time to put on his own sunscreen and get their towel straightened out.

He doesn’t expect her attention to stick, and it’s not long at all before she decides she’s finished with the sand, her attention turned now toward the large stretch of water several feet away. She looks over at him and points.

“Ocean,” he tells her, bending down to her level. She’s watching the waves roll in with an awed look on her face, eyes wide like she’s never seen anything like it before. “That’s the ocean. Like a big swimming pool that goes on and on. ”Want to go in?”

She doesn’t, but twenty minutes, a diaper change, and a shovel full of sand thrown at Niall later, she’s finally ready, tugging on his shorts and pointing again at the water. “Go?”

He reaches down for her hand, holding it tightly as they walk down together. She hesitates for a moment, unsure, as they watch the next wave come in, rising up to Laila’s ankles and covering their feet with wet sand. Laila shrieks in both surprise and delight, keeping a firm grip on him with one hand as she bends down to poke at the mush on her toes with the other.

“Go?” She asks, pointing at the water. He’s not sure how deep the sand is, so he picks her up and wades out until he’s about waist deep, feeling a little anxiety creeping in and trying to battle it back down. He lets Laila kick her legs out and holds her steady above the water to let her paddle around a bit.

He’s never seen her look more ecstatic than when she’s in the water. Even bath time is no longer a chore. His mum suggested putting her in swimming classes, but his schedule can get so hectic even when they’re home that he doesn’t know if she’d ever be able to attend classes regularly.

When Laila finally tires of the water, he carries her back up to the towel, wrapping her up and drying her off. Niall and Liam have come back to dry land by now too, so he settles in around them, looking around for the one glaring omission from their little group.

“Where’s Lou?” He asks, a slight frown on his face, because Louis hadn’t told him he was going out today. Laila perks up at the mention of his name, looking around too.

“He didn’t tell you?” Niall looks surprised, and he and Liam and Harry exchange wary looks. Zayn doesn’t like that.

“Tell me what?”

“El bumped her flight up, so he’s gone with Paul down to the airport to fetch her. They’re staying in town for a few days before they head down here. Woulda thought he’d tell you that he was going.”

“No, he didn’t,” Zayn can’t help the jealous tone in his voice, knows the others noticed it, but they don’t say anything, letting themselves get distracted by Laila instead. Zayn regrets not bringing his phone out here with him, but it’s not like he has any place to be jealous. He doesn’t own Louis, and he’s not going dwell on it. Louis is still going to be around to play uncle to Laila, just like Liam, Niall and Harry, so it’s not like he has to worry about how it’ll affect her.

Or at least, he doesn’t think he’ll have to worry until that night as he’s gently working the baby shampoo through her hair. She’s splashing and playing with her toys like normal, and on cue, she tilts her head back, eyes squeezed shut so he can rinse the suds out. When her eyes open up again, she’s looking at him with something akin to puzzlement. “Daddy, Lou?” She asks with a soft frown.

He doesn't know what to say at first, just touching her cheek softly. She's already gotten used to Louis spending the evenings with them, eating together in the room if the hotel restaurants are too busy, helping with her bath, watching cartoons with her while Zayn showers. Even when he doesn't stay the night, he's around at some point during the day, more than anyone else aside from Waliyah. It's only been a day but Laila's old enough and perceptive enough to notice his absence.

He doesn't answer until her bath's over, wrapping her up in her fluffy duck towel and carrying her back into the bedroom. She keeps looking around for Louis, even for Waliyah, because although his sister generally has evenings free, having them both missing is something out of the ordinary for Laila.

Her gets her lotioned and puts her nappy on before he finally speaks, combing his fingers through her damp curls. "Uncle Louis had to go away for a couple days, like Auntie Waliyah. So it's just gonna be you and me for a couple days, little duck."

"Go bye-bye?" She asks, staring at him solemnly. He nods, reaching for her pyjamas, blue with ducks.

"Just for a little while, love. But we can have fun just us, can't we?"

She looks skeptical, but smiles, and he does too, tickling her sides and blowing raspberries into her belly to make her laugh before he zips her up and hands over her blanket and stuffed bunny. They cuddle up together to watch one of her Peppa Pig DVDs for the millionth time, and Zayn's pretty sure he's got them all memorised by now.

It doesn't take long for Laila to fall asleep, and he knows he should take advantage of this downtime and go shower, but he can't bring himself to leave her. He gets up long enough to turn off the television and change into his sweatpants before cuddling in with her, lulled to sleep by her soft breathing.

—————

The next few days are remarkably easy. It's such a difference between now and those early days when he felt completely hopeless at parenting. She cries much less now, mostly in her sleep, but he's always there to comfort her. She adores him, everyone says so, that he's become such a natural and was it really any surprise he'd be so good at this whole parenthood thing.

Quite frankly, he's surprised, but he accepts the compliment. He is doing everything he can to make into easier on her, despite his schedule, but he appreciates having this time off, and every free moment he can bond with her. He doesn't pay much attention to what the press says, though he knows how rampant the speculation is that he's going to quit the band. He doesn't want that, and he decided that early on. He's going to balance his two commitments as best he can, but he knows now that someday he might have to make a choice between them. A couple months ago, maybe his final choice would’ve been different, but Zayn knows now, without a doubt, that if it came down to it, he would always choose Laila.

—————

Louis returns a day earlier than the others said he would, unannounced and with Eleanor in tow. There was a reason Zayn had scheduled the dolphin cruise for him and Laila on the following day, because he’d intended to avoid this whole thing as long as possible.

He’s at least somewhat grateful that he and Laila have had the house to themselves for most of the morning. He’s trying to show Laila how to build sandcastles, but she seems more intent on destroying everything he builds. When he hears the sliding glass door open, he barely glances up, assuming it’s just one of the other lads coming back from shopping or surfing or wherever Harry, Niall and Liam have gone off to.

It’s Laila who sees them first, raising her head up and shrieking, “Lou!” when she sees him, toddling over and reaching up for him. Louis doesn’t miss a beat, scooping her up and covering her with kisses. “How’s my best girl? I missed you quite a lot.”

Zayn pushes himself up, brushing the sand off his shorts. The least he can do is say hello, try to be polite. Eleanor gives him a stiff smile, one that he’s not sure how to read. She’s wearing sunglasses and a simple white dress that flatters the nice tan to her skin. Her arms are folded loosely in front of her, glancing over toward Louis, who is listening intently as Laila babbles to him about her day.

“It’s lovely to see you, Zayn,” Eleanor finally breaks the silence between them, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s not making eye contact, but then again, neither is he, instead watching Laila, now on her feet again, tugging Louis over to see the ruins of Zayn’s sand castle. “And nice to finally get to meet your daughter in person. Louis has told me so much about her, I feel like I know her already. It’s Laila, right?”

There’s a hint of something akin to sadness in her voice and Zayn feels shame bubble up in his chest before he nods. “Yeah, Laila. That’s my little girl.”

“He’s good with her,” Eleanor says calmly, having finally regained control over her emotions; nothing about her voice or facial expression betrays her feelings now.

“He’s always been good with kids,” Zayn agrees, smiling to himself as he watches Louis trying to corral Laila back over toward them and away from the water. “She adores him.”

“She looks well-adjusted. Although all the travelling, it can’t be good for her. Especially after losing her—” Eleanor wisely cuts herself off, has the good sense to look embarrassed. Silence rolls between them, punctured only by Laila’s giggles. Louis has given up on trying to get her to walk back with him, so he swings her up into his arms, carrying her back over to them.

“I go away for a couple days and she runs wild the entire time I’m gone,” Louis huffs in mock exasperation. Laila has her little arms around his neck, clinging tightly like a baby monkey. Eleanor pushes her sunglasses up to rest in her hair, giving Laila a bright smile.

“Hi, pretty girl. I’ve heard so much about you, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

As always with strangers, Laila shies away, pressing herself closer to Louis, eyes darting over to make sure Zayn is still nearby. “It’s alright, little duck, she’s nice. I promise.”

Laila gives him a wary glance before turning back to Eleanor, giving her a curious look-over.

“I’m Eleanor. I really like your bathing suit, it’s very pretty. That big blue strawberry looks tasty.”

Laila frowns, looking down at the strawberry on her chest, touching it softly. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, wed.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so silly, you’re right, it is red. What about these?” She tugs her sunglasses off and waves them at Laila, who frowns again, then smiles, relaxes in Louis’ hold, sensing the game. “Bwoo?”

“What a smart little thing you are,” Louis beams, grinning proudly at her as if it’s _his_ daughter being praised. “Nice to see she inherited something of value from you.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, reaching out for his daughter. “I’ve got to put her down for her nap. Might take one myself. Hope you two have a nice afternoon.” He brushes past them, bumping Louis gently with his shoulder, hoping the gesture can convey what he can’t say. Not yet at least. Not here, not out loud.

—————

Louis comes to him in the middle of the night, bare feet padding softly across the floor as he slides into bed with Zayn, pressing into his back. Zayn lies still, trying to calm him breathing down, make Louis think, at least for a moment, that he’s asleep. But Louis doesn’t want to play that game, digging his knee into Zayn’s side.

“What the fuck?” Zayn hisses sharply, turning over to face Louis. The moon is bright tonight, near full and it illuminates the room, casting Louis’ face in pale light. “Lou, you can’t just come in here in the middle of the night like this, not with her here, it’s—”

“We broke up yesterday,” Louis interrupts, his face pained. “It’s on good terms, we both agreed to that, and she promised we’d keep up appearances with you lot for the rest of the time she’s here, but…she’s got a job offer and she wanted to tell me in person. She’s moving to Prague next month, and it’s a full time thing. We talked about a break, but we’re both adults, and that’s just delaying the inevitable. We’re tired of fighting, and the distance isn’t helping. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I have to unless I plan on being a wreck for the rest of my life. I want her to be happy, even if it’s not with me. I’m not gonna force her to give up her dream so I can keep living out mine.”

“You still shouldn’t be in here,” Zayn says warily, afraid of the churning in his stomach, the distant ache that has him torn between joy and sorrow. “Don’t betray her like this by coming in here as soon as things are over between you.”

“I told her about us.” Louis says flatly, and Zayn can read the fear in his eyes at the admission. Granted, he does stiffen, sucking in a breath as he tries to process Louis’ confession. “Why?”

“Because she deserved to know the truth, and I wasn’t going to sit round and act like I’m completely torn up over when I’ve had you two helping distract me from it. You know me, you should understand why I feel this way. I want to help you look after her, if you’ll have me for that, at least. I’d do anything for that little girl, you know I would.”

“Is that the only reason?” Zayn blurts out, before he can stop himself, desperately wishing he could take the question back. Louis stares back at him, blue eyes steady.

“Do you want me to answer that, Zayn?”

Zayn wants to say yes, but he can’t do that, not now, when everything is fragile and the guilt over his part in whatever is going on between Louis and Eleanor. So he avoids the question, breaking eye contact as he picks at a loose thread on his pillow case.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, trying desperately not to let his emotions get the better of him. “I know you love Laila, but you don’t need to feel like you owe us anything. I already told you, I’m not asking you to play house with me. You offered to help out, and I appreciate that, but don’t throw what you have with Eleanor away because you love my daughter.”

“Never thought I’d live to see Zayn Malik offer relationship advice,” Louis chuckles awkwardly, trying to break the tension between them. “Look, I’m gonna go back, she’s asleep anyway. I just needed to tell you that so you can stop wringing your hands and looking guilty every time you wake up with your dick poking me in the back and rush off to the bathroom.”

Zayn looks startled and Louis just laughs, shifting over to press a kiss to his cheek before getting up and making his way to the door. He pauses by Laila’s cot, reaching a hand in to touch her curls before lowering his head down and gently placing a kiss on her forehead.

“No matter what happens, we’re still mates, right?” Louis asks, looking back at him. Zayn smiles, nods, feeling a tightness in his throat.

“Yeah, course we are. We’ll always be mates, Louis.”

—————

Eleanor is gone by the time he and Laila come back from their dolphin cruise. Louis is unusually quiet, not responding with the usual enthusiasm, even when Laila runs into his arms to babble on about all the dolphins they saw that afternoon. It makes things tense and dinner that night is awkward and stilted. It reminds Zayn of how things had been in the first few days after things ended with Perrie and he discovered Laila’s existence. Everyone ends up trying to tiptoe around the issue, and somehow that makes it all worse.

It’s their last night at the villa, so at least the downtrodden atmosphere fits the occasion. They’re heading into Miami proper tomorrow, and soon it’ll back to the tour grind, back to hotels and screaming fans and sold out shows. There’s excitement that they’re getting back to performing, but this time off has been brilliant and Zayn knows they’re all going to miss it.

“Not sure I’ll have too many fond memories of this place,” Louis mumbles as he shuffles around Zayn’s room, helping pick of Laila’s toys, strewn all over the place. Laila’s already fast asleep, so they’ve been trying to keep their voices down while they repack everything. Neither of them have spoken a word about the situation with Eleanor until now, and Zayn isn’t sure he wants the conversation to proceed any further.

“I need time,” Louis continues, closing up Laila’s case and leaving it by the door. “I thought it would be easier after she left, you know? Like we tried so damn hard to make things right between us so we wouldn’t hurt when it was over, but it’s like a bloody punch in the gut.” His voice goes small, looking back at Zayn with watery eyes. “Did you feel like this when you found out things were over with Perrie?”

“I probably felt worse,” Zayn admits, still hating that they have to talk about this, but maybe it’ll be cathartic for them both. “I can’t blame her for what happened, or for her leaving. That was all on me, and she told me once that she could swallow her pride when she’d hear all those rumours about me fucking round on her, but it was impossible for us to stay together when she had solid proof that I was unfaithful. So no matter how bright and beautiful and easy to love Laila is, she’s always going to remind Perrie that I cheated on her. I know Pez isn’t the type of person to hold resentment over anyone for something they didn’t do, so maybe she would’ve loved Laila too, in spite of that. But I’d feel guilty about it the rest of my life if we’d stuck together. I still feel guilty about it. I don’t know when that feeling is going to go away, but,” he pauses, looking over to where his daughter is soundly sleeping in her cot. “I don’t regret keeping Laila.”

“You’re like Ned Stark, except you’ve still got your head,” Louis laughs, moving over to the bed and sitting down next to Zayn. They sit in silence like that for a while, Louis resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder, Zayn with his arm wrapped loose around Louis’ waist.

“Do you miss her?” Zayn finally breaks the silence, moving his hand up to comb his fingers through Louis’ hair.

“Yeah. I don’t think it’s hit me yet that it’s over between us, and I know people are gonna go mental when they figure it out.”

“Have PR ban questions about it,” Zayn suggests, kicking out of his shoes and pulling Louis down into bed with him. “No baby questions for me, no relationship questions for you. If anyone wonders why she’s moving her things out, you can say she’s moving for work and that’s not a lie. I don’t care what they write about me, as long as they aren’t dragging Laila or my family into it, you know? No matter what they write, you know the truth. That’s what matters, yeah?”

Louis nods in affirmation, reaching up to turn off the bedside table light and yawning as he settles himself back at Zayn’s side. There’s more to be said, Zayn understands that now, but he’s tired and it’s been a long day for Louis. They’ve got plenty of time to continue what they started way back in Marbella, what seems like a lifetime ago.

—————

If the others notice anything has changed between him and Louis since Miami, they don’t say a word about it. It’s welcome departure from the often merciless teasing they used to have to endure whenever a new significant other came into the picture. Zayn’s not sure if they’re just being given space, or if they’re being subtle enough that no one’s caught on yet.

Aside from Waliyha, of course, who never misses anything and Zayn both loves and loathes her for it. She manages to corner him alone in his hotel room in San Antonio (Louis having taken Laila to the pool) poking at his chest with the pointed tip of her nail. “Whatever it is you’re getting yourself into, don’t let Laila get hurt. They’re all like uncles to her, but I can tell she already loves Louis almost as much as she loves you. So don’t you dare fuck this up and end things badly. She’s already lost her mum, she doesn’t need any more heartbreak.”

There’s something highly unsettling about the fact that he’s being lectured by his little sister—even if he can practically hear his mother in her voice—but he knows she’s right, and that’s why things have been slow between them for the last couple of weeks. Louis is still emotionally raw from his breakup, a feeling that Zayn knows all too well, but their slow pace has been good for both of them. It’s almost like being an inexperienced kid again, except he’s having that reaction with someone he’s known for years now.

Waliyha’s the only one who typically sees them alone together, save for Laila, and she never misses a moment to fall back into her annoying little sister role, complaining about them acting like lovesick teenagers. It’s a gross exaggeration, since all they typically do is share a few kisses in front of her. Laila’s oblivious, mostly just happy that when she’s not with her favourite auntie, she’s spending her days with her other two favourite people.

She’s got half a case full of just her toys, and the tour bus that he, Louis, Laila and Waliyha usually ride on looks more like a nursery playroom than the lads’ lounge it was a year ago. Louis can’t help buying her colouring books whenever he spots a new one at a gas station during their late night stops, and Zayn does nothing to dissuade that. He’s keen to start developing her artistic skills as early as possible. Waliyha teases him that even at twenty months, she’s already surpassed him in talent.

—————

As September prepares to give way to October, they’ve finally arrived in Los Angeles, their final stop on the tour. Zayn’s on his usual high alert when it comes to Laila, never going out in public with her in big cities, especially not a busy celebrity-magnet city like this one. Waliyha takes Laila (and always at least one of their bodyguards, tagging along at a short distance) to a suburban park to get a little privacy from the hustle and bustle of downtown Los Angeles. There’s a distant ache in Zayn’s heart when he remembers the last time he was here, a little more than a year ago, strolling down the city late in the evening, window shopping with Perrie while they shared a cup of frozen yogurt.

“I’m looking forward to going home,” he tells Louis as they relax in the green room, waiting their turn in the chair with Lou. They’ll have time off after this, but their new album is out in a little under two months, with promo starting a couple weeks before. Still, the downtime they do have is something to look forward to—and Zayn would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he wants to spend it all with Louis and Laila.

“I know what you mean, yeah,” Louis agrees, tossing aside a magazine and propping his feet up on the table. “Miss my nan’s cooking every time we’re away. You should come round when we get back.”

It’s more a demand than an invitation, but Zayn wouldn’t turn it down either way. “As long as you come round mine right after. We could make a road trip of it, maybe. You, me and Laila.”

Louis’ face brightens at the suggestion, and he scoots in next to Zayn, ipad in hand, already planning their route, going on about how excited he is to tell Laila about it. Louis’ excitement is oddly contagious, and Zayn feels his heart beat just a little faster at how endearing it is listening to Louis prattle on about how much he’s looking forward to showing them around Doncaster, especially since Laila’s never been.

When Lou interrupts to steal him away for his hair and makeup, Zayn can’t keep the goofy smile off his face, and his good mood carries over to the show. He can’t remember the last time he felt so energetic on stage. Maybe it’s because it’s their last show of this tour, or maybe he just fed off of the positive vibes Louis was giving out earlier. Whatever it is, it makes the show absolutely electric, and Zayn’s still buzzing by the time they’re through.

They’ve already made plans to celebrate, and Waliyha assures him she’ll have Laila in bed by the time he gets back, so for once, he doesn’t worry about her. This is the first year that they’ve all been legally allowed to drink in America, and they take full advantage of it when they arrive at the club. Harry spontaneously buys a round for the entire dance floor, and the cheers get Zayn’s adrenaline pumping. He wants to dance, wants to move his body to the rhythm of the music pounding through the speakers, but the one person he’d like to drag onto the floor with him is off limits in public situations like this. So he has to content himself with fleeting touches, impatience that he can feel coming from Louis too.

Neither of them have had enough alcohol to produce anything other than a slight buzz, and Zayn takes advantage of his likely now-sleeping excuse, telling Paul that he and Louis are tired and he wants to check on Laila, so could they head back a little early tonight. The others call them spoilsports, but he just laughs it off, tugging Louis along as Paul gets them through the crowd and out a back door where a car is waiting for them.

The twelve-minute trip back to the hotel has them both on edge, full of explosive energy that they both need to get out. He’s having trouble keeping his hands off of Louis, trying to force himself to wait even on the elevator and as they walk down the hall to their room—there’s no telling where there might be cameras, and Zayn doesn’t want to be responsible for any more front-page scandals.

The second the door clicks shut, hands and mouths move at lightning speeds, touching, kissing, tugging at clothes. Louis has a tight grip on his waist, pressing kisses along his jaw, nipping, biting, sucking gently and moving on before he leaves a mark. They’re aiming for the bed, but it’s dark and stumbling backwards, Zayn nearly trips over the sofa bed. He has a horrible feeling that Waliyha is in the room, and he reluctantly pulls out of Louis’ hold, rushing over to flip on the bedside table light. To his relief, it’s only Laila, curled up under the covers and surrounded by pillows to keep her boxed in. There’s a note resting on the clock that reads: _She fell asleep watching Dora, didn’t want to wake her. Hope u had fun ;) see u in the am! W x_

Zayn shows the note to Louis, who shrugs, already stripped down to his briefs and giving Zayn an expectant look.

“We shouldn’t, not with Laila in here,” he hesitates, glancing over at his daughter, asleep and oblivious to the world.

“I can be quiet. I know you can be quiet. We won’t wake her, I promise, Zayn. I’ll make it quick too, I just—” Louis’ fingers hook in the belt loops of his jeans, tugging him closer, peppering kisses along his neck until Zayn’s lost all ability to argue.

Louis pushes him up against the bed, instructing Zayn to get his shirt off while he works at his jeans. Zayn's no stranger to doing this, especially not with Louis, and he embraces the complete thrill of touching another person's naked skin and being touched in return. There’s another thrill altogether that it’s his best friend unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to his ankles before kneeling down in front of him.

Zayn is hyperaware of the brush of Louis's fingers against his thighs and the hot puff of breath that hits his hipbone. Every one of his senses feels heightened, all vivid sharp sensations and he can't stand up any longer, can't wait for Louis's mouth to actually touch him. Louis smells sharp and sweaty and just as his lips part to wrap around Zayn’s cock, their eyes meet and hold. Zayn threads his fingers through Louis’ hair, but never breaks eye contact. It’s been too long, far too long since he’s been touched like this. He knows he’s not going to last very long, can already feel the familiar signs coming on that he’s close.

Louis senses it too, and he eases off just a little, hand fisting at the base of his cock as he pulls off, kissing along the inside of his thighs. Zayn lets out a groan of frustration, the sound loud in the silent room.

There’s a muffled noise coming from the sofa bed that makes them both freeze and Zayn spares a thought to how ridiculous they must look frozen like this. Unfortunately, even the threat of Laila's waking isn't enough to dull his arousal and he squeezes on Louis’ hair, encouraging him to get a move on, finish what he’s started.

Louis gladly complies, lips sliding back over his cock, taking Zayn in as deep as he can. Zayn vaguely feels the tip of his cock hit the base of Louis’ throat and he stifles another moan, tilting his head back as his hips start to thrust up into Louis’ mouth.

Louis gags a little at the unexpected force, pausing to get his bearings before settling into a rhythm with Zayn.

It doesn’t last long, only a couple minutes more, before Zayn suddenly inhales sharply, a deep shudder running through his entire body as he comes, fists tightening in Louis’ hair, holding him in place until he’s finished. Zayn slumps back onto the bed, the aftershocks still hitting him.

Louis pulls off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up onto the bed to join Zayn. “It’s been a while,” he says with a laugh, leaning down for a kiss, and Zayn nods as he deepens the kiss, chasing the taste of himself in Louis’ mouth. His hand drifts lazily down, slipping underneath the band of Louis’ briefs. He manages to nudge them down enough to free Louis’ cock, smearing precome down the shaft as he moves his hand.

Louis moans into his mouth, rolling his hips up into Zayn’s hand. He sounds breathless when they finally break their kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” Louis murmurs, lips trailing along Zayn’s collarbone. “So fucking fit, look at you.”

Zayn doesn’t particularly think of himself as vain, but he’s not going to argue with praise like that. He rewards Louis for it with a firmer grip, speeding up his strokes until Louis is practically incoherent by the end, burying his face in Zayn’s neck and trying to muffle himself as he comes in spurts over Zayn’s hand, onto his abdomen, onto the sheets.

Zayn manages to untangle himself from Louis, getting up and going to get a flannel from the bathroom to clean up the mess. Louis is lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch his breath again.

“You alright?” he asks in a quiet voice, looking up as Zayn comes closer, wiping his fingers before handing the towel over to Louis.

“Yeah, s’nice to not have to rely on my hand for once. I missed that.”

Louis snorts, dabbing at the streaks of come along his torso. “Haven’t had a laugh in the middle of sex in ages.”

“I…haven’t had sex in ages,” Zayn remarks, climbing over Louis and dropping down into bed. “Haven’t been like this with you in ages either. I like it. I missed it.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, fiddling with the corner of the sheet. When he finally meets Zayn’s eyes, there’s something strange about his expression and Zayn doesn’t know how to read it.

“I missed it too. Even when it was awkward and neither of us had the slightest idea what we were doing the first couple times. It’s just…” He trails off and goes back to fiddling with the blanket until Zayn takes his hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

“It’s what?”

Louis hesitates, struggling for words. “It’s just that I feel different when I’m with you. I always have, and I think it scared me at first, because I didn’t want feelings getting in the way of our friendship. So it’s not just about this, like, the sex or whatever. Never has been. I mean, whenever we’re together I feel like we’re two pieces that fit together, make a whole. And I’ve never felt like that with anyone before, not even with Eleanor and I was crazy about her. But it’s just. It’s you, you know? Like, when I’m with you, I feel grounded, like, I dunno. Like we balance each other out. We can be crazy one moment, pulling all sorts of shit on the other lads, and then the next, it gets real quiet and sometimes I haven’t even got to say anything, but you know what I’m feeling. And sometimes you can be a right arsehole, but I’ve not got any room to talk when it comes to that. So. You know. I’m gonna stop talking now before I make myself sound like even more of an arse than I probably already am.”

“Twat,” Zayn says, but it’s affectionate, nuzzling against his cheek as he pulls the blankets up over their bodies. “I feel that way sometimes too. And then I see you with Laila, and it’s like. I dunno, I can’t even describe it properly. Just that you’re so good with her, and I feel like I’m good with you, like you said. I don’t think we need to put a label on this, us, what we’re doing, but I like it. I want to do this more often. I want you to come stay with us during break. Just for a little while, just so you’re not lonely.”

“I’d like that. I hate being lonely,” Louis sounds tired, but there’s a hint of happiness in his voice, genuine happiness that Zayn’s been missing ever since Miami. He’s glad to have it back now.

“Laila would too. We can go home. Figure things out, what we want. Take our road trip,” he reminds Louis, arm snaking around his waist, thumb stroking softly over his hipbone.

“Yeah. It’s a good plan,” Louis agrees with a yawn that Zayn can’t help but mimic. “Already know what I want though.”

Louis’ words send a pleasant shiver through him, and Zayn curls up closer, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss before settling back at his side, shutting his eyes and holding Louis close, like an anchor, never wanting to let him go.

—————

Zayn blinks awake, squinting as a sunbeam hits his eyes, cursing himself quietly for not shutting the curtains last night. “Louis?” The warm body behind him stirs and shuffles closer, morning erection hitching along the small of his back. There's a sound from the foot of the bed, reminding Zayn why he woke up. “Louis, is that you?”

“What, this?” Louis asks drowsily, thrusting lazily against his arse, a slow and delicious slide that forces a pleased hum from Zayn's throat.

“Mmm, you feel good,” Zayn tells him, still in that warm and fuzzy space between asleep and awake, and his mind is already urging him to drift right on back to sleep. “Don't wanna get up.”

“Don't need to,” Louis murmurs, apparently in the same state, his voice thick with drowsiness. He wraps an arm around Zayn, pulling him in closer. “No more shows, nothin’ to do but laze about. Go back to sleep.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Zayn stroking his fingertips over the back of Louis's hand, so close to drifting back to sleep, until—

“Daddy!”

“Fuck!”

“Shit, Laila!” Louis dives for the sheets as Zayn rolls away from him and sits up, staring at his daughter, who is trying unsuccessfully to climb up on the bed. “How did you get out of bed?”

Zayn does his best to sound calm, but Laila looks so startled, her lower lip trembling and her eyes glisten as she takes that first hesitant breath that precedes a crying fit. Zayn instinctively reaches for her. Louis yelps and flips the sheets over his bare torso as he stretches full out along the bed.

Keeping a hand firmly in place at his waist to prevent the comforter from slipping away, Zayn moves down so his face is even with hers, cupping her little cheek and trying to be reassuring. “Shhh, baby,” he tells her, practically pleading with his eyes. “I'm here, I'm here, you don't need to cry.”

Of course, she does.

And somewhere in the process of picking her up and comforting her and Louis trying to cover them up as much as possible with the sheets and, as a last resort, the pillows, Zayn starts to laugh. His life is completely and utterly upended, complicated beyond recognition but remarkably, he’s okay with that.

—————

“Louis, where did you put Laila’s purple coat?” Zayn calls, doing one last frantic dig through the suitcases. They’re leaving tonight for the trip up north and everything’s been packed and double-checked, except now he can’t find Laila’s favourite purple jacket and he’s not looking forward to the fit she’ll throw if she has to wear the yellow one instead.

“Relax,” Louis replies, coming down the stairs with Laila in his arms, purple coat zipped snugly up to her chin. “This micro-managing thing you’ve been working at for the last week is making you tetchy.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, taking Laila from Louis and settling her on his hip. He starts to call him a smartarse, but Laila's hit that stage where she likes to repeat nearly anything they say. Her new favourite, which Zayn blames Louis entirely for, is twat, even if she still hasn’t gotten the pronunciation down yet.

It’s been an interesting two months since the tour ended. Somehow they’ve settled together, like they’ve been doing this for years instead of just a few months. Their album came out a month ago, and with it came more press appearances, more interviews, everyone clamouring to know more about how he’s coping with life as a father. In the time since Laila's come to him, he’s never said more than a few words about her to the press, because that’s his private life, and he’s always tried to keep it private.

But he knows the curiosity won’t ever stop, and after a long talk with Trevor, one of their public relations assistants, he ends up with an offer from none other than Rolling Stone. It’s not a cover story, and he’s grateful for that at least, but he’s got a two page article done up for their January edition. It’s the first time he’s done a photo shoot without any of the other lads, but Laila’s there, and the pictures are intimate, beautiful. If he’s going to show his little girl to the world, he’s glad to have it on his own terms.

It’s easy to talk about how much his life has changed, how hard it’s been at times. It’s hard to admit that the best thing in his life is the result of infidelity, but he’s honest about it, because, well, it happened, and he’s not going to tiptoe around the truth. He’s back on speaking terms with Perrie now, and things are even beginning to become friendly between them. But he knows what they had before is gone. He’s come to terms with it, and he knows Louis has been a big part of that—though he’s not going to mention that in the story. He’s not stupid, knows how much would be at stake if he admitted that, not even just for him or Louis, but the whole band.

Things between them are still so new, and neither of them are thinking in the long-term, just taking things one day at a time. Maybe someday in the future they’ll have their Rolling Stone cover story, the two former boy banders coming out together, raising a daughter. But until then, Zayn still wants to keep that part of his personal life to himself.

His parents are happy for him, and that’s all that matters for him really. Everything’s been so hectic with the album and the performances and interviews and he’s beyond relieved that the holidays have come around, giving them some well-deserved time off, time that he and Louis are taking full advantage of for their road trip.

“Ready to go visit Grandma and Grandpa?” Zayn asks Laila cheerfully, kissing her cheek and reaching down to grab her suitcase, letting Louis get their shared larger one. They’re taking Louis’ car up since it’s bigger and has more storage room in the back for their suitcases and Laila’s travel cot and the mountains of presents they’ve got for both of their families. It almost seems odd having to deal with space limitations now that they’re off tour.

“We got spoiled by the tour bus,” Zayn says almost mournfully, buckling Laila into her safety seat. It’s only about three and a half hours up to Bradford, provided traffic is good, and they’ve scheduled their departure right around Laila’s naptime, hopeful that she’ll fall asleep before they pass Peterborough. She’s used to long trips by now, although at least with planes and buses, she’s got a little more freedom of movement.

She spends the first hour of the drive singing along to her Peppa Pig CD on repeat, babbling along to her stuffed rabbit. The poor thing has been through it all, Laila’s security blanket since her first days with him, and she dissolves into tears if she can’t find it. Louis suggested putting a tracking device in it next time they’re on tour—the time it was left behind at their hotel in Chicago was a nightmarish experience Zayn never wants to repeat.

Eventually, Laila’s singing gets softer, her babbling quieter, until she drifts off just as they’re passing Peterborough. Zayn waits another few minutes before turning off the music, fiddling with the radio until he finds something he likes, keeping the volume down and adjusting it so it’s louder up front.

It’s quiet between them for a while, Louis tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song. Zayn considers taking a nap himself, until Louis speaks up.

“Would you laugh at me if I told you I was nervous about this?” He says, glancing over at Zayn before returning his eyes to the road.

“What, visiting my parents? You say that as if you’ve never met them before. They know you, they’ve always liked you. Nothing’s changed now that we’re together.”

Louis shrugs, chewing on his lip. “Yeah, but that was before. It’s not just that we’re together, but they’ll want to be sure I’m setting a good example for Laila, shit like that.”

“You’re amazing with her,” Zayn tells him reassuringly, reaching a hand over and giving Louis’ thigh a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t mean it any more than a comforting touch, but Louis jumps slightly, his cheeks reddening.

“Not while I’m driving, you twat!” He yelps, batting Zayn’s hand away, looking flustered.

“Lou, I like you well enough, but I’m not crazy enough to try and pull you off in the middle of the A1 with my daughter in the backseat. Maybe someday when we’re stuck in London traffic, yeah?”

Louis recovers just in time to give Zayn a well-aimed punch in the shoulder.

—————

Laila is just starting to wake up from her nap by the time they pull into his parents’ driveway. There’s a light snowfall coming down, but that doesn’t deter his family from gathering at the front door to wait for them, rushing for the car as soon as Louis turns off the engine.

“Looks like you lot brought enough presents for ten people,” his father teases, handing off packages to his sisters to carry in. His mother goes straight for the backseat to get Laila, who shrieks “Nana!” happily when she sees her. Zayn’s glad to see that all those Skype conversations with his parents paid off and that she still fully recognises them.

Three trips back and forth to the car and they’ve finally got everything unloaded. They’re bustled off to the dining room table before they even have a chance to get settled anywhere else, but Zayn’s absolutely not complaining, not when his mother’s got a meal piping hot and ready for them to eat.

Laila makes her way around the table, stealing bits of food from everyone’s plate, to Zayn’s embarrassment and everyone else’s delight. “She’s a growing girl,” Yaser says, setting her on the edge of his knee so she can steal bits of naan that he’s already had torn into small pieces waiting for her. “Besides, we haven’t had a chance to see her in ages, you’ve at least got to give us a chance to spoil her when we do.”

And, well, much as he’d like to protest so that Laila doesn’t make a habit of eating off of other people’s plates, Zayn can’t really argue with that.

—————

Louis volunteers to help his mother with the dishes after dinner, and so Zayn trails his sisters into the front room, keeping an eye on Laila while the three of them fuss over her. She’ll be two in a month and even though she’s spent more of her life without him than with him, Zayn still feels like he can’t imagine how his life would be without her being in it. _I’d be married by now_ , he thinks, and he wonders how things would’ve ended up for Louis and Eleanor, if they would’ve worked things out or still split up. She still keeps in touch with him, Zayn knows, and he’d been jealous at first, but Louis assured him he had no reason to be. She’s happy in her job and Louis is happy with him, and Perrie’s been seeing some actor, he’s seen them in the papers and they seem happy. Watching Laila playing with his sisters, he thinks maybe she was a blessing in disguise.

“You’ve done so well with her,” his father says, coming to sit down next to him on the couch. It’s high praise hearing something like that from his dad, whom Zayn has always looked up to and tried to emulate.

“Trying to do my best. It’s still hard, but everyone’s been so wonderful, I’ve had a lot of help. You and Mum, Waliyha coming to stay with us, everyone helping out while we were on tour.”

“And Louis?” His father adds, looking over at him. Zayn can’t help the smile that goes to his face, glancing toward the kitchen where he can just faintly hear his mother and Louis’ voices.

“He’s been so amazing with her,” Zayn gushes, thinking back to what Louis had said in the car, how anxious he was to earn the approval of Zayn’s parents now that their relationship had moved on from just friends.

His father nods in agreement, and that warms Zayn’s heart a little. “I can tell how much he cares about her. About you both. Don’t ruin this, Zayn,” Yaser adds, and Zayn looks over at him, a frown starting to form on his face before he realises exactly what his dad is talking about.

“I didn’t mean to ruin things before, I just—” The excuse he’s trying to find dies on his lips and he shakes his head. “I don’t want to be responsible for hurting another person I love,” he finally says, letting out a heavy sigh. “And it’s not fair to Laila either, she’s so attached to him.”

His father pulls him into a tight hug, kissing his forehead before letting him go. “You’ll be good for each other. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Louis wanders in, making a beeline for the couch when he sees Zayn, sitting next to him, not too close, and certainly not close enough for Zayn. He shifts over, away from his dad and over toward Louis, nudging him gently with his shoulder before wrapping an arm around him. “Stop worrying,” he murmurs against Louis’ ear. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

He feels Louis’ hand on his knee, and his own slides down to tangle their fingers together. It’s intimacy they’re used to when they’re at home alone, but suddenly Zayn is keenly aware of his family’s presence in the room, flushing red when he catches his dad and sisters all grinning at them. Even his mother, as she comes in from the kitchen, is smiling, and now it’s Zayn’s turn to be flustered, the spell only broken when Laila, puzzled by everyone’s silence and at no longer being played with, pushes herself up and makes her way over to him, tugging on his free hand. “Daddy! Play!” She demands, looking very put out at being ignored. There’s another beat of silence, and then everyone dissolves into laughter, which only serves to confuse Laila further. She gives him a glare before going over to Louis, crawling into his lap and sticking her thumb in her mouth, staring at everyone else glumly.

Louis flashes Zayn an apologetic smile, reaching out for his hand again. If the situation was reverse, Zayn knows Louis would’ve feigned offense, pretended to pout until Zayn kissed him enough to make amends. But Zayn’s always been the forgiving type, even if his own daughter has shunned him for his best mate. Boyfriend. He’s still getting used to thinking of Louis that way, especially with how backwards they’ve done everything. But he’s always considered Louis family, it’s just that now, he’s a different kind of family. It’s going to be different now, they’ve had long conversations late into the night about that, but in the end, it always comes down to whether or not it’s worth it. Zayn thinks so, and he knows Louis does too. The road ahead won’t be easy, but they’re in it together, for the long haul. And, he thinks, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder and reaching over to comb his fingers through Laila’s hair, there’s no place else he’d rather be than here, with his family, safe, happy, and above all, loved.


End file.
